Old Friends Revisited
by Blackdeer7
Summary: Shepard's past comes back to haunt her with perilous consequences. Wrex is there though, for fun or friendship, and the strange duo - with Liara's help - will weave through a web of crime on their journey unraveling a sinister mystery. Takes place right after ME1. Myst/Rom/Adv FShep/Liara
1. The Start

**Author's Note:**

This story takes place between ME1 and ME2 and was originally intended to be a chapter in my on-going fic, Evolution of Command, but it just didn't work into the mold or overall theme of those vignettes. Too dang long. *grin*

This is a mystery/adventure tale with FShep and Wrex, but will have other Normandy cast members, too. FShep is in a relationship with Liara T'Soni and while their developing romance is depicted, the main relationship (in my mind's eye) of this tale is Wrex and Shepard's unique friendship. I love Wrex! So cool, so sarcastic.

Intertwined within the story are some subtle and some not-so-subtle references to B5 and BSG (newer series)-it is my way of paying homage to some great shows. Also, this is a new genre for me, so hearing about what you liked or (gasp!) what you didn't like continues to be both helpful and motivating. Not to mention, barring the rare exception, who doesn't like to get reviews? Hmmmm…? That's what I thought! *big grin*

Thank you to those who read, Fav, Alert and/or Review! Your interest and feedback are greatly appreciated, not to mention motivating in the most cleverish of ways. I hope you enjoy the story!

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: The Start<strong>

_Two weeks had passed since Saren, a rogue Spectre, was defeated and Sovereign, the sentient Reaper ship he aligned with, was destroyed. The chaos and full-focused sprint to the final endgame between Command Lakota Shepard's squad and the Reaper scout ship was over. In the aftermath, lies the broken, but still functional Citadel, a massive space station constructed over 50 millennia ago which acts as the political, cultural and financial capital for the galaxy's sentient species. As a nexus of the galactic community's stability, it accurately reflects the galaxy's own bruised and injured state…_

"Regalian ale." Lakota Shepard stood at what was left of the Flux bar and pretended to be interested in the amber liquid that was now sitting before her. She had frequented the establishment many times in the past, but this was the first time since the battle with Saren. Somehow or another the bar managed to avoid major damage during the Citadel attack, so its doors were allowed to remain open and become the hot spot for anyone seeking to forget the cares of the day or the troubles of tomorrow. It had not avoided change though. What was once an upscale meeting place for a more regal clientele became a dingy watering hole for anyone with a few creds to burn.

The bar was packed with a conglomeration of Citadel and non-Citadel members. At this point, everyone- regardless of race- was looking to escape the heaviness of the space station's near annihilation. Amidst bustling energy and thick sounds, the place was illuminated with a kaleidoscopic spectrum of ever shifting colors that followed the pulse of the dance music. Ceiling mounted fog machines billowed hazy clouds down upon the dancing masses, which then crept along the outlining floor like an ethereal mist. This combination of fog and light added a surreal feeling to the restless space giving it an otherworldly sensation.

The latest techno mix thumped through the bar like a war drum making tabletops shake and the liquid in Lakota's glass ripple. The enthralling, heavy base beat seemed to reverberate through the prismatic, hazy air and stimulate the very core of the commander. She loved to dance and the rhythmic cadence was like a siren call to the primal energy found only on the dance floor. But tonight was not a social outing. Tonight, Lakota was meeting a contact who had valuable information, and they were late. This only meant one thing to the Spectre: the contact was not coming. Unobtrusively scanning the bar, she noticed a scene that looked out of place: a table with four male humans. It caught her discerning eye for a reason.

Earlier in the day, she received an unexpected dispatch from the C-Sec detective, Chellick. It was repayment for help she'd given him a few months ago while he was investigating illegal arms trading. His message contained recent images of some Tenth Street Reds members on the Citadel. One of them was, Tomas Finch, a man who threatened to reveal her past affiliation with the Reds, so she, in turn, threatened to end his life. Finch ran, saying he would never return. Apparently, the definition of "_never_" was open to interpretation. Tonight, she planned on indoctrinating her own definition of the word into the man.

At the table with the four humans sat Mario Torres. She recognized him from the images Chellick sent. The other men were dressed similarly, which led Lakota to believe they were all, most likely, members of the Reds. They would have answers about Finch's whereabouts. Although Chellick was a no-show, she was not going to waste her night out.

She scanned over the crowded bar while she waited for an opportunity to make a move. The bar was packed tightly with a diverse crowd. Chora's Den shutdown from damage acquired during the attack on the Citadel leaving the Flux as the only decent and official establishment still open. People needed a refuge from the everyday life that had gotten more difficult since the battle.

Even though the bar was teeming with patrons, nobody looked twice at Commander Lakota Shepard. No one seemed to recognize the first human Spectre, the "Savior of the Citadel", wandering among them, but she planned it that way. She learned long ago the value of hiding in plain sight.

Her raven-black hair, normally pulled back into her characteristic pony-tail, was worn down. Every morning Lakota made a conscious choice to pull her hair back, so she would have the ability to change her look with one swift move: letting her hair fall to the shoulders. It was a drastic change of appearance, if you had never witnessed it before. And recently, Liara T'Soni was the only one who had been privy to such a sight.

In place of her Mercenary X armor, she wore tight, dark brown leather pants, a rust brown leather tank top and knee-high, brown leather boots to match. Lakota chose these boots specifically for tonight, because although chic, they offered a few hidden features she desired, but more importantly, the heels were sensible. Basically, she could maneuver quickly and efficiently in them if the situation called for it.

On her forearms, she wore stylish, ten-inch brown leather bands, which were highlighted in sage green. These, too, had a secondary purpose beyond accenting her wardrobe. Lakota intentionally left her pistol and sniper rifle in her quarters, but she did not enter the evening unarmed. Her dagger, _Chaos_, was strategically tucked away on the underside of the left armband and throwing knives were safely hidden in the boots and right armband. They were leftover trinkets from her days with the Reds, strictly non-Alliance issue.

The most difficult feature for Lakota to cover-up was her trademark, seven inch scar that cut across her face. But with a creative application of makeup, she was able to make it disappear. If anyone did notice Lakota, it was not because of her rank or title, it was because they noticed a strikingly good-looking human.

Mario and two of his companions got up from the table. The fourth man stayed there, sipping his drink while the others unhurriedly made their way through the crowd toward the exit door. Lakota pushed her untouched drink aside and followed. Casually keeping a discrete distance, she quietly slipped out the door, but did not allow them to get beyond her line of sight. The three were inebriated, and had no apparent concern of being followed, making it that much easier for her to tail them.

The men made their way through the recreational corridors of the Upper Wards and toward the habitation wing of the Bachjret Ward. It was late, so few individuals were in the artificially illuminated passageways. Lakota noticed that the further they travelled away from the Flux, the quieter the corridors became. The Spectre slowed her pace as she approached a corner the three men just passed. Peering around, she caught sight of them talking to a male, human guard stationed in front of the entrance of a habitation room. After a moment, the guard used his ID card to open the door and let the other men in.

Lakota turned the corner and casually walked up to the guard donning her most award winning smile. "Hi."

He was a big man, but didn't look physically fit—he had a bit of a gut and little muscle definition. Lakota assumed he was one of those men who intimidated others by his size, not his fighting skill. Narrowing his annoyed, brown eyes, the burly guard grumbled, "You've got the wrong place, bitch."

The Spectre rolled her eyes. She wasn't one to easily be intimated… by size or attitude. If the guard noticed her disdain, he showed no sign of it.

Without missing a beat, Lakota shot back a snarky reply. "I need to talk with the three guys who just passed through, so that means I need to go," she pointed her finger at the door, "in there."

"Get lost."

"Listen. We can do this the easy way or… oh, to hell with it."

Lakota stepped up to the doorman and hit him in the throat with the crook of her right hand—between the thumb and forefinger—the two grabbing the trachea in a pincer-like manner after impact. The man who taught her this move called it the Tiger's Mouth Strike. The doorman grunted and attempted to spin away, but the Spectre caught him with a left jab, which landed well, and a right cross, which landed even better.

Disoriented, he stumbled back a step in an attempt at getting some distance between him and his attacker. Panic was in his eyes—he knew he was outmatched and reached for the pistol in his holster.

In one swift movement, Lakota slipped _Chaos_ from the arm sheath with her right hand and bludgeoned the pommel into the guard's nose. Surprise was on her side, as he instinctively covered his broken nose with both hands and her left fist landed a solid jab in his solar plexus. He exhaled with a kind of snort and doubled over as blood spilled out of his nose. Unable to catch his breath because of the punch to his sternum, his breathing came in short, hitched gasps from his mouth. A millisecond later when _Chaos_' hilt slammed down on the back of his head, the guard fell to his knees. The _coup de grâce_ came next. Lakota's knee connected with the temporal area of his cranium, which finally knocked him out cold.

Sheathing the dagger, Lakota dragged the guard down the hallway discarding him behind some storage crates. She propped him in a sitting position so the blood from his broken nose wouldn't choke him, patted his head as if to say, "sweet dreams, asshole" and then took his ID card and pistol, holstering it in her belt behind her back.

Lakota headed back to the door and used the newly acquired ID card to gain entry. The doors slid open with a soft mechanical swoosh and she cautiously stepped into the small main foyer of a dingy, three bedroom apartment. The three men she had followed were twenty feet away, standing around a figure who was strapped into a chair. Although a fourth man was positioned in front of the chair, obscuring Lakota's view, she could tell the sitting figure was a turian.

The human standing to the right of the chair had both of his hands on the turian's shoulders, as if keeping the bound figure's head upright. The man had a stocky frame, but wore loose, oversized clothes which made him look unkempt and frumpy. A tribal tattoo ran down his shaved head like a mohawk, which only added to the scruffy appearance.

The man standing behind the chair was completely opposite. He was tall, lanky with a full head of curly, shoulder-length red hair and a clean shaven, baby face which made him look ten years young than his true age. The khakis and maroon, short-sleeved button down shirt fit as though they had been tailored and even his black shoes were shined. The only thing that deterred from the trendy image was the pipe he held in his hand which he used to intermittently tap on the turian's head.

To the left of the chair stood Mario Torres who was a blend of the other two—short cropped black hair, medium height and build, but with a well maintained goatee. The dark red polo shirt contrasted well with the black dress pants, although the white sneakers on his feet were a bit of an eye-sore.

"_Larry, Moe and Curly," _Lakota thought to herself.

The forth man spun around giving Lakota her first clear sight of him and the turian strapped in the chair. The human looked both mean and strong. He wore crimson t-shirt that looked two sizes too small and every muscle in his chest and arms seemed to threaten to rip the fabric. He trimmed his hair short, like a marine and left a permanent five o'clock shadow on his jaw line, so his whole head had the same length of hair. He had a thick, dark uni-brow and small, beady eyes which seemed to make him look even uglier when he focused on Lakota.

As for the turian, even though his face was a bloodied mess, she recognized him: Chellick.

In the span of time it took for the four men to see an unarmed woman walking into the room, Lakota had narrowed her eyes menacingly and formulated a plan of action.

"Who the fuck are you?" yelled the one with the tattooed head. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"Your friend," Lakota nodded in the direction of the door, "let me in. It seems I'm late for the party though."

If Chellick was conscious or recognized Lakota, he made no indication of it.

"I didn't catch your name." The strong, ugly one picked up a pipe off the table and advanced upon Lakota.

"That's because I didn't give it." Surprise was on Lakota's side as she brandished the gun from behind her back. "Now back off before things get messy."

The ugly one smiled which did nothing to improve his appearance. He continued to walk toward the Spectre. "You ain't going to shoot nobody, darlin'. You ain't got it in ya."

Lakota rolled her eyes. "I see your looks aren't the only thing that's lacking." She fired the gun once.

The burly man stopped and looked at his shoulder. "You fucking shot me!"

"Yes, I did."

"You fucking shot me in the shoulder!" He seemed more indignant that he'd been shot, than concerned by the blood running down his arm.

"We've already established that fact. Now don't be stupid. Back off, before I do it again."

"You can't take all of us out at once, bitch! Get 'er boys!" All four men charged.

Lakota calmly fired three, successive head shots. Each one remorselessly took out its target. To no one in particular she mumbled, "Why do they always have to be stupid?"

Mario Torres was the only man standing. He quickly looked around at his fallen comrades, plaintively looked at the woman with the gun and raised his hands in the air.

"On your knees, Mario. Hands behind your head, fingers laced, and legs crossed." For extra incentive, Lakota pointed the gun at him and shouted, "NOW!"

The human quickly complied with the Spectre's instructions.

With the other three humans down, Lakota crossed the room and checked each of the bedrooms—the gun always pointed at the trembling man kneeling on the floor. Confident the apartment was secure; she moved over to the table and verified Chellick's semi-conscious form. He was battered, but nothing looked broken. Then again, she was no expert on turian physiology. More importantly, after glancing at the table littered with various instruments of torture, she was just glad he was alive.

"I'm only going to ask you this once, Mario. Where's Finch?"

"Oh my god, oh my god," whimpered the man. "I'll tell you anything. Please don't kill me."

To Lakota, it looked like the man wanted to curl up in the fetal position and cry. Sighing heavily, she said, "Tell me what I want to know and I won't need to kill you."

"I don't know any Finch. I've never heard of him."

Lakota pressed the warm barrel of the gun to the man's forehead. "Think very carefully before you answer my next question, Mario. They could be your last words."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck… I don't know. I swear! I don't know him!" Mario was trembling so hard that his hands had trouble staying woven together.

"Where can I find someone who does know?"

"Oh shit. Oh, man. Please don't ask me that. They'll kill me."

"And I won't?" The Spectre's hand grabbed the man's hair and forced him to look at his fallen comrades.

"Okay… okay… But don't tell them I told you."

"You have my word. Now where can I find them?"

"They'll be in 'Las Catacumbas'."

"Las Catacumbas? Where the hell is that, Mario?"

"I don't know! I've never been there. I just heard Moreno talk about it."

"Who's Moreno?"

With his head, Mario motioned to the big, ugly dead man.

Irritated, Lakota threatened, "If I find out you're lying to me…"

The kneeling man bent over so his forehead touched the ground and cried, "I swear! I swear! Te lo juro por Dios!"

Lakota heard the tearing sound of metal as a human silhouette, haloed in blue biotic energy, flew past. The body landed with a deadened thud and she quickly swung around to the apartment entrance, pistol leading the way.

A familiar figure walked through the door, causing a mischievous smile to grace Lakota's face. Pointing her gun back to the confused, quivering human kneeling on the floor, she happily intoned, "Wrex."

"Shepard," was the deep tenor response from the krogan battle-master.

Raising a questioning eyebrow, the commander queried, "Don't take this the wrong way, but what the hell are you doing here?"

Nodding in the direction of the human torpedo, Wrex said, "Looked like you could use someone watching your back."

"Yeah… thanks for that, but how did you find me?"

"Your asari scientist."

"Liara? She asked you to stop me?"

"No. She knew I was bored and pointed out that trouble always has a way of finding you."

Lakota chuckled. "Did she?"

"Yes, she's shrewd." Wrex looked around at the dead men lying on the floor. "…and knows you well."

"Hey, you know some of the shadier parts of the Citadel… have you ever heard of a place called Las Catacumbas?"

"The place where humans go to feel superior?"

"That sounds like the place. Know how to get us in there?"

"I've worked with someone who would know."

"Oh?" Curiosity got the best of the Spectre. "Krogan?"

"Asari."

"Would she remember you?"

"She would."

"Fondly?" smirked Lakota.

"No."

"You know where to find her?"

"Yes."

"Good."

The krogan nodded his head. "What about the quivering mass of hysteria at your feet?"

Lakota looked at Mario. "I'll turn him into C-Sec. First though, I need to get help for Chellick."

"Didn't you get that turian out of a bind with some illegal arms investigation?"

"Yep. The one and the same."

"And now you saved him from some human zealots."

Lakota shrugged her shoulders. "What can I say, I'm a helper."

Wrex nodded his head again. "What's your plan?"

"Ready to alleviate your boredom, Wrex?"

The krogan's eyes turned into what people who knew would call amused. "Lead the way, Shepard."

Next Chapter: The Lead


	2. The Lead

**Chapter 2: The Lead**

"How is Detective Chellick doing?"

"He's a little scuffed, but he'll be back to chasing bad guys in a couple of weeks."

Lakota and Liara were lying together on the bed in the Commander's quarters. Both wore their comfy clothes for the informal occasion—black silk lounge pants and grey tank top for Lakota and matching purple sleepwear for Liara. The satin fabric of the asari's clothing was as smooth as the Spectre's, but not as thin.

Liara nuzzled her face into her lover's neck. "Did he have any information on Finch?"

"No." Lakota tightened her embrace, pressing their bodies closer together. "Nothing other than the digital images he'd sent. He was ambushed while on the way to meet me, but doesn't remember anything until he woke up in the hospital. The doctor said he'd been drugged with a turian designed sedative."

"Goddess. Why did they go after him?"

"It seems someone is trying to keep people away from Finch. Whether it's Finch directly or somebody else remains to be seen."

"And the human who tried to attack you?"

"Which one?" Lakota chuckled.

Liara smiled, and then playfully squeezed the Spectre. "Do not play dumb now, Commander."

"Noted, Doctor." Grinning, Lakota turned her head and placed a quick kiss upon her lover's cheek. "Mario Torres is being held by C-Sec on kidnapping and assault charges. He's not saying much now though. If I had to guess, C-Sec won't get any more information out of him."

"So what is next?"

"Wrex is checking with his contact about Las Catacumbas."

"Do you have any idea what that place is?"

The commander sighed ruefully. "Not yet, but I'm sure I will soon."

"That is not much to go on."

"True. But at least it's something."

"So… that's it?" asked Liara. "You wait for Wrex?"

"Well, this doesn't exactly involve the scientific method, Doctor. Basically, I start in, poke around, ask questions and see what happens."

"Is this known as Shepard's Method?"

"Well, in forensic circles it's known as 'I don't have any idea what the fuck I'm doing,' …but don't tell anyone. It's only known among the elite members."

Liara raised herself up on her forearm and then looked down upon her lover with a questioning eyebrow arched. "And this works for you?"

Lakota grinned mischievously. "So far."

"When will you be meeting up with Wrex?"

"We'll meet in the morning. It sounded like he wanted to reintroduce himself to his… um… friend tonight. Alone."

"Good."

Lakota frowned. "Good?"

"Yes." Liara rolled on top of her lover, so they were face to face, toe to toe, and then leaned in, tenderly brushing her lips upon Lakota's. "That gives me plenty of time to explore multiple applications for Shepard's Method."

**########################**

The following morning, after being briefed by Lieutenant Alenko on the status of the _Normandy's _repairs, Lakota met up with Wrex outside the Flux. Although it was 0700, the establishment was packed full of drunken patrons and the mingled scent of stale beer, sweat and manufactured fog whiffed through the entrance each time the door was opened.

"Wrex."

"Shepard."

Lakota motioned her head in the direction of the bar. "Are we meeting your contact in there?"

"No. She wanted to make sure it was just you and I, so some of her hired help will be following us as we walk to meet her."

"Nifty. I'll try not to look worried."

"And remember not to scream when the shooting starts."

"Oh, don't worry about me; I'll be using you as a shield."

Wrex chuckled and then started walking—Lakota fell into stride next to him. The human and krogan strolled down the artificially illuminated corridors, which were moderately filled with a varied assortment of individuals who were either coming from or going to work. As they continued their trek, Lakota became aware of two asari who were following them at a discrete distance.

"So who are we meeting?" questioned Lakota.

"Her name is Lysandra."

"How do you know her?"

"She's a former commando who was hired to protect some stolen merchandise. I was hired to get it back."

"I doubt that went well for her." Their path took them upward toward the Presidium level. This surprised Lakota, she assumed they'd be meeting Wrex's contact in a lower 'back-alley' type of Ward—like some dark noire vid.

"It didn't. But it took five days, twenty-five hundred rounds of ammo and two ships to get it back. If I hadn't shutdown her ship's life support, it would have gone on longer."

"What is it with you going toe-to-toe with asari commandos?" questioned Lakota incredulously.

"Must be my good looks."

"And charming personality," added the Spectre.

"That, too."

"And she lasted five days?"

"She did."

"Impressive," said Lakota. "So you respect her."

Wrex nodded his head. "And she looks good naked."

"That's always helpful." Lakota looked behind to make sure those tailing them hadn't gotten lost. "What's she doing on the Citadel?"

"You ever hear of Aria T'Loak?"

"No. Should I have?"

"Only if you've ever been to that ass end of space." Wrex paused momentarily as if tangled up in a thought. "Aria is an asari who started out as a dancer and ended up as the de facto ruler of a space station in the Terminus system known as Omega."

"I've heard of the station. A haven for the less reputable inhabitants of the universe."

Wrex nodded his head again in silent agreement. "Lysandra wants what Aria has."

"A space station?"

"A reputation."

"Ahhhhh… there are easier ways to get one of those."

"She'd prefer to get it by killing people," said Wrex.

"I see why you like her. Do you trust her?"

"No," replied the krogan battlemaster, "but she owes me a favor."

Their path took them onto the Presidium—the massive park-like complex which contained offices for various branches of the galactic government, as well as embassies for all the races represented in the Citadel. Normally the lush, panoramic views showcased scenery bustling with activity, but because of the catastrophic wreckage caused by the Reaper ship ramming into the space station, nearly all zones of the Presidium had been quarantined and registered off-limits to personnel.

Wrex and Lakota walked onto a large, open platform that had avoided any damage from the battle. The Spectre recognized the area immediately. This was a restricted area where the Embassy offices were housed. Armed guards met their advance, but let them pass when Lakota flashed her Spectre ID. The pair continued up another staircase leading to the second floor.

Voicing her curiosity, Lakota said, "Odd place to meet an information broker."

"I never said she was broker."

When they reached the top of the stairs, Lakota saw an angry looking krogan standing in front of the door closest to the stairs on left-hand side of the hallway. He was a few inches taller than Wrex and just as stocky. The shotgun in his hands added to the angry appearance.

Lakota stopped in front of the towering krogan. "Hi."

The guard ignored the Spectre.

Wrex stepped up to the door, and then gave the guard a sideways glance. "Kolrak."

"Wrex," replied the guard. "She's expecting you."

"Then stop gawking and let us in."

Kolrak grunted before opening the hatch.

Lakota made it three paces through the door and then asked, "Friend of yours, Wrex?"

"He's not that interesting."

The entry hall went all the way back to a stained glass window at the end of the complex. The hall was vaulted, two stories high and sparsely hung with some expensive looking tapestries. Another stairway went to the second floor, but Lakota followed Wrex who continued down the hallway toward the stained glass.

Lysandra's office was at the end of the hallway where the corridor opened up to a large room with vaulted ceilings and an outer wall composed entirely of glass. Large stained glass panes were mixed among panes of clear glass which—instead of showing off a panoramic view of the Presidium—now captured the images of repair crews and piles of wreckage. The office itself was sparse and sort of streamlined-looking. There was a desk comprised of a trendy black metal frame and glass tabletop while some black and white photos hung on the walls. A couch, lounge chair and coffee table were situated in the corner of the room to give the appearance of solitude. Each piece of furniture was framed with the same black metal as the desk, but the couch and chair were padded with overstuffed white cushions while the tabletop was made out of a colorful array of mosaic tile work.

There were three asari in the room, one behind the desk, sitting in a black leather office chair and the other two lounging on the sofa and chair. Shepard noticed that the eyes of the ones lounging had locked onto her and Wrex the moment they stepped into the room. Their vigilant gaze conflicted with the ease of the relaxed poses. Each of them was dressed in matching, form-fitting light armor. Standard asari commando issue.

The asari at the desk looked up from her work and then eased back into her chair. She was dressed to kill in a completely different way. Tight, black leather pants tucked into high, black boots and on top she wore a loose white silk halter. The white color elegantly contrasted the blueness of her skin—which, to Lakota's eye, seemed slightly darker than that of Liara, while the sleeveless aspect effectively displayed well-toned arms. Like all asari Lakota had seen, in human terms, she was very good-looking.

"Well, well, well… Wrex," said the asari behind the desk. "It has been a long time."

Wrex nodded his head. "Yes, it has, Lysandra."

"When I received your message asking for my help, my curiosity wouldn't let me say no." Every syllable was drawled out to its sensual peak and each word and phrase seemed saturated with sexual innuendo. "And then when you mentioned being in the company of a Spectre…"

Up until that time, Lakota had the distinct impression that she hadn't been noticed by Lysandra at all, but then the asari's gaze locked onto her with an animal-like ferocity. Lysandra stood and walked around the desk, stopping when she was inches away from Lakota. Her eyes carefully inspected the human before she spoke. "_You're_ a Spectre?"

"Yeah." Lakota shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "Normally I wear a special uniform with a big S on the front, but it's at the cleaners. Blood stains wreak havoc on clothing."

"And you carry a gun?"

"Yes, I do."

"You ever shoot anyone with it?"

"Mostly I use it to get a date."

The asari chuckled in amusement. "Wrex told me you were a smartass. He also told me you want to get into Las Catacumbas."

"I heard it was a great vacation spot."

"For humans, maybe." Lysandra's gaze continued to rove slowly across Lakota's form. "Why do you want access?"

Lakota looked at Wrex who shrugged his shoulders as if to say "I don't trust her, but do what you will." Frowning slightly, the Spectre turned back to the asari and said, "I'm looking for a human named Tomas Finch."

"What do you want with him?"

Lakota smiled. "That's between him and me."

Returning a coy smile, Lysandra purred, "Fair enough, but what do I get out of this information exchange?"

"The satisfaction of helping someone in need?"

The asari licked her lips before saying, "You don't look like someone in need."

"Thanks. I workout."

Wrex took a step forward. "You give us the information we need and the debt between us is paid."

A look of surprise splashed across Lysandra's face, but she recovered quickly and then paused as though she was deep in thought about the offer. Lakota knew it was just a dramatic ruse. A technique used by someone who was trying to play the game, but who had already revealed their hand.

"Okay," said the asari. "I'll tell you what you need to know."

Lakota opened up the questioning. "What is Las Catacumbas?"

"It's a human-run cesspool of drugs, illegal gambling and fenced goods. Think of it as a floating black market with live entertainment."

"Floating?" questioned Wrex.

Lysandra turned her gaze toward the krogan battlemaster. "Las Catacumbas has existed on the Citadel for many years. Ever since humans were able secure their own sector in the Wards. To keep C-Sec from discovering their location, Las Catacumbas moves every few days."

Wrex nodded then asked, "Who runs it?"

"The humans."

"That was really helpful," quipped Lakota. "Insightful, too. Come on Wrex, let's go round up all the humans."

Squinting her eyes in annoyance, Lysandra offered, "A human, anti-alien group known as the Reds is rumored to be running it." A sly smile curled on her lips as she prodded, "Ever hear of them, Commander Shepard?"

Lakota crossed her arms defiantly and met the asari's gaze. Neither blinked nor looked away. "I'm guessing you already know that answer to that."

Lysandra waved her hand dismissively in the air as she leaned back on her desk. "It's of no concern to me, Commander." Another sly smile graced the asari's lips. "Human's have always been a step behind the Citadel races."

Wrex got the discussion back on track. "If it's constantly moving, how do people find it?"

"Honestly," answered Lysandra, "that part is ingenious in its simplicity. There are a handful of Red members who know the exact location and entry password. And the password changes with each new location. These lieutenants find people who want in and then exchange the information for a… price."

"What price?" asked Lakota.

"It may be money, it may be information or it may be," the asari bit her lower lip, "...something more physical. Or so I have been told." Lysandra's grin reminded Lakota of the Cheshire Cat from _Alice in Wonderland_.

"And how is it that an asari can get us into this place?" Lakota's skepticism was carried in her voice. "The humans who run it aren't known to be open-mined when it comes to dealing with other species."

Lysandra pushed off of the table top then moved around the desk and sat down in her chair. "My business allows me certain… privileges that others don't have."

"And what is it that you do?" questioned Lakota.

"A little of this, a little of that."

"It's been my experience that people doing that kind of work usually operate in… dingier environments…" Lakota spread her arms out as if embracing the room. "…not Embassy suites."

Lysandra's head motioned to the documents hanging on the wall behind her. "I have doctorates in business administration, cross-cultural finance and interspecies economics from The University of Serrice on Thessia."

"So you're smart."

The asari nodded her head slowly. "Very."

"So you'll be able to get us into Las Catacumbas?"

"Yes."

"Hot damn."

**########################**

Wrex and Lakota were walking through the Citadel corridors heading toward the Normandy's docking bay. Because of the damage to the Citadel, there was no direct route from the Presidium to the bay, so they had to take a few detours through the lower wards.

"You think she was telling the truth?" asked Lakota.

Wrex replied, "There's only one way to find out."

"True enough."

As the two turned a corner in one of the dimly illuminate hallways, they immediately found themselves surrounded by six armed humans—four men and two women. Each wore a red garment and had a pistol pointed at the pair.

"Friends of yours, Shepard?"

"Wrex, please. They aren't that interesting."

One of the men stepped close to Lakota. He wore a red baseball cap that matched his red t-shirt and a pair of dirty blue jeans. "You've been snooping around where you're not wanted, Shepard."

"Yeah, it's a bad habit of mine. I'm trying to cut back, but…"

The man backhanded Lakota with his left hand hitting her solidly on the jaw and with such force that the Spectre took an involuntarily step backward.

"You sure he's not a friend of yours, Shepard?" quipped Wrex. His voice was even-toned as though the display in front of him held little interest.

With her right hand, Lakota wiped away the blood dripping from her lower lip. "Damn, Wrex. You may be right. He's certainly acting like one."

The man backhanded the Spectre again. This time with his gun hand, so the blow struck the opposite cheek with more force and sent Lakota down on one knee.

"Your smart mouth will get you killed, Spectre. And so will your curiosity. Keep your nose out of Red business." The man stepped closer as if attempting to intimidate Lakota by towering over her.

"Wrex…"

"Shepard?"

"Are you just going to stand there and be rude," Lakota's body tensed slightly, "or are you going to say 'hi' to my friends?"

When she finished her sentence the Spectre launched herself up and forward, head-butting the man who'd hit her and sending him staggering backward—gun skittering across the floor. Surprisingly, his baseball cap didn't fly off. Lakota quickly shuffled forward swinging her right leg up and across in a martial arts type of kick. It landed solidly on the man's jaw and this time his cap was knocked off his head, but he stayed standing.

Wrex immediately followed Lakota's lead with a biotic push that sent the other five soaring backward through the air—each colliding with a corridor wall. The space was cramped and not suited for a large numbered brawl which put the advantage with Lakota and Wrex.

The Red closest to Wrex—a woman—attempted to get to her feet, but her face met the butt end of the krogan's shotgun. She slumped backward, her unconscious form sliding slowly down the wall.

The other Reds recovered quickly, but as they raised their guns to fire Lakota sent an overload charge through the corridor, disabling all of their weaponry. The man who lost his baseball cap threw a left hook in retaliation, but the Spectre blocked it with her right and then followed up with a hard jab to his nose. He faked left and then tried and overhand right. Lakota took it on her left forearm and then nailed him with a right cross. This time he went down on his knees—his eyes unfocused from all of the head shots he'd endured. She finished him off by swinging her right leg around in a Muay Thai angle kick—her hips rotating into the kick in order to convey more power and her shin making contact with the side of his head. He hit the floor with a grunt and didn't move any more.

Lakota turned in time to see the butt end of Wrex's shotgun connecting with another Red's face. The three remaining members, overloaded pistols hanging loosely in their hands, turned and ran. The krogan and Spectre didn't follow.

Wrex holstered his shotgun and looked at the three unconscious forms on the ground. "That was fun, Shepard. I'd like to meet more of your friends."

"You know me, Wrex," smirked Lakota, "I'm always good for a lively time." With the back of her right hand, she wiped the blood that was still dripping from her lip.

"Looks like you could learn to take a punch though," deadpanned Wrex.

"Nah… no need for that. I'm dating a Doctor."

"A Prothean expert isn't going to be able to stitch your itty bitty pieces back together."

As if on cue, a small object bounced down the corridor stopping at the krogan and human's feet.

"GRENADE!" screamed Lakota.

The following explosion caught the battlemaster and Spectre in midstride as they were running away from the object. The blast launched them both through the air, Wrex landing easily down the corridor—protected by a biotic barrier—and Lakota landing heavily- protected from the blast by her kinetic shielding, but battered and bruised from colliding with the wall.

"Ugh," groaned the Spectre. She was lying on her stomach, legs and arms sprawled out with her cheek touching the cool metal floor. "I'm going to hurt in the morning."

She took a quick glance at the smoking, crumbled area and saw that Wrex looked unscathed. As she tried to get her bearings, Lakota closed her eyes and fought the oncoming headache caused by the sound of the explosion. The pounding in her head dominated all other noise around her, like a war drum banging in her ears, and nausea threatened to overtake her. In a few minutes, Lakota had slowed her breathing and the nausea had passed. The ringing in her ears faded just enough to make out the sounds of footsteps clicking on the floor – becoming louder as they got closer. She reached for her pistol, but then felt rough hands wrench it away and felt the familiar sensation of a gun barrel touching her head.

"Commander Shepard," said a ghostly voice.

Lakota opened her eyes against the glaring light of the hallway. As her eyes focused on the origination point of the voice that called her name, she marveled at the Prothean technology that allowed the corridor lights to still be functional after such an explosion.

"Commander Shepard."

The voice had more solidity to it this time and Lakota's eyes were now able to make out a C-Sec uniform amidst the settling dust.

"Yeah, that's me," she said. "'Bout time you showed up."

"Commander Shepard. Get up. You're coming with us."

Lakota knew the difference between a request and an order. It sounded like the C-Sec officer was giving her an order—and she didn't take well to being given orders after almost being blown up.

"How about you tell me why I should go anywhere with you?"

"Commander Shepard, you are being charged with the murder of Mario Torres."

"Oh hell." Lakota let her pounding head fall back down upon the soothingly cool floor. "Today is not my best day."

**Next Chapter: The Frame**


	3. The Frame

**Author's Note:**

For this chapter, it's important to know that Lakota Shepard is (and always has been) an Infiltrator and she loves her sniper-rifle, _Styx_.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: The Frame<strong>

"I don't like you, Shepard."

Lakota's head was still throbbing from the explosion and she pressed two forefingers on her left temple as if trying to temper the discomfort. It was a slightly difficult maneuver because her hands were bound together in C-Sec handcuffs—four-inch metal bands wrapped around each wrist that were held two inches apart by a magnetic field.

"Yeah, you've said that before, Pallin." She closed her eyes while taking in a deep breath and then grumbled, "Tell me something useful."

Lakota was sitting in an uncomfortable chair across from Executor Venari Pallin, who was seated at his desk and staring at her with unveiled contempt. The desk was well-organized and tidy, much like Pallin's personality. As the head of Citadel Security, he was the liaison between C-Sec and the Citadel Council, and dealt with any issues on the station involving Spectres. The turian also had some very strong opinions and wasn't shy about voicing them. Specifically, he disliked Spectres because he felt they were given too much latitude and the humans because they assumed too much—both of which Lakota was well-aware.

"How about that fact that three people are dead because of you, Spectre?" challenged the C-Sec chief.

Lakota looked up. "I didn't kill them. The grenade wasn't mine."

"No," fumed Pallin, "but it was intended for _you_! Their blood is on your hands!"

Mentally, Lakota was nodding, but she didn't move a muscle. She had no intention of giving Pallin any satisfaction for thoughts she'd already had. Instead, she focused on the scene displayed through the outer window- machinery and workers doing repairs on the Presidium. Pallin's office was located in the Embassy wing—the same as Lysandra's, so Lakota felt as though she'd been routed in a circle.

"Why am I here, Pallin?" she asked. "I already gave my statement."

"Let's talk about Mario Torres, _Spectre_." His barely contained antipathy spilled out every time he said the word "Spectre."

"He was alive when I left him with your officers. What else is there to say?"

"Yes, he was alive. And when he was being transferred from interrogation to the holding cells, he was shot and killed."

"So you mentioned," said Lakota.

"By someone who knows how to use a sniper rifle." Pallin's words were heavy with innuendo.

"Damn, I think you broke the case!"

"It was an impressive feat. Only one shot was fired."

"That's economical," commented Lakota, "not impressive."

"Forensic evidence puts the shooter a kilometer away when the shot was fired."

The Spectre shook her head slightly. "That's still not impressive."

"The killer used an infrared scope to see through the wall."

"That's skillful… not impressive."

The turian put both of his hands on his desk as if bracing himself to leap across and attack. "The armor piercing bullet passed through a five centimeter thick outer wall of reinforced alloy, entered Torres' temporal lobe, and blew out the back of his head."

"Okay," conceded Lakota, "that's impressive."

"Few could make a shot like that." Pallin's voice had an accusatory edge to it. "I'm told you can."

"I don't know." Tension and frustration showed when Lakota clenched her jaw. "I've yet to try."

"Where were you between 0630 and 0700 this morning?"

Lakota glared menacingly at the C-Sec chief before saying, "As I already told you, I was walking- alone- in the Citadel, heading to a meeting."

"Who were you meeting, _Spectre_?"

Lakota grumbled, "Again- like I told you before- Urdnot Wrex."

"And why were you and a krogan mercenary meeting so early in the morning?"

"Missionary work. I would've preferred a later time, but the morning shift was all that was left."

Pallin stood and walked around to the front of his desk, standing in front of Lakota. He leaned back on his desk- nonchalantly crossing his arms in the process.

"I don't scare you, do I _Spectre_?" questioned Pallin.

"Scare me?" The Commander's gaze bore into Pallin's. "No… scare's not the right word. I can think of a few others though."

"You should fear me, _Spectre_. I can make your time on this station _very_ difficult."

"Right." Lakota rolled her eyes and leaned back into her chair. "Because compared to you, Saren and Sovereign were pussycats."

"Ah yes. I wondered when you'd start preaching about the so-called 'Reaper threat.'"

Before Lakota could comment, the office doors opened and a figure quickly rushed into the room.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Donnel Udina.

"And here arrives Councilor Anderson's advisor… What are you doing in my chambers, Advisor?" dared Pallin.

Udina's nostrils flared. "You damn well know my name and you damn well know you can't hold a Spectre on such outlandish allegations."

The older man wore a dark grey, double-breasted cashmere suit. The blue dress shirt underneath the blazer had a white band-collar and was buttoned at the top giving the whole outfit a formal appearance. Udina was known to be a stylish, if not a pretentious dresser. Even his black shoes shined.

"She is here for questioning in a murder investigation, Advisor. She will stay until I say she can go!"

"You cannot keep Shepard here! She's a Spectre… and under the protection of the Council," protested Udina.

"No one is beyond my reach when it involves unmitigated murder!" countered Pallin. "Even the Council would agree with me on this!"

"Then take it up with them! This is blatant harassment! Just because she's human…"

Lakota stood and then tossed the handcuffs on Pallin's desk. While the two men were arguing, she'd picked the lock—a remnant from her Red's education.

"Actually, as fun as this is," stated the Spectre, "I _am_ leaving."

She rubbed her wrists with her hands before saying, "Even if you had some evidence against me, which you don't, I am a Spectre and my jurisdiction _**is**_ beyond your reach… _Executor_."

Pallin rapidly glanced between the cuffs on his desk and the unshackled human. To Lakota, it looked as though his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets, which was an odd sight to behold on a turian. Udina just looked dumbfounded. She turned her back on both men and headed toward the door.

"As long as you stay on the right side of the law, _Spectre_," called the C-Sec chief as the door opened, "we'll have no problems." He crossed his arms again as if punctuating the point.

Lakota stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "The _right _side?"

"The side I'm standing on," menaced Pallin.

"Oh… goodie," said Lakota as she walked out the door, "I was wondering where it was."

**########################**

"Shepard!"

Lakota heard her name being called, but didn't slow her pace as she continued her descent down the Embassy steps. In fact, she purposely ignored the voice behind her, in hopes it would go away.

"Shepard! Slow down!"

Lakota quickened her pace.

"Shepard!"

When Lakota reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped and turned around just in time to see Donnel Udina gasping for breath at the top. The advisor saw her looking at him and then he started down the steps.

"Dammit, Shepard!" exclaimed Udina while he descended. "Why didn't you stop?"

The Spectre ignored the question. "What do you want, Advisor?"

The older man landed on ground level and tugged on the bottom hem of his blazer in an attempt to straighten his already immaculate suit. "I think it should be obvious. Did you have anything to do with that man's murder?"

Crossing her arms in annoyance, Lakota said, "I didn't kill him."

"That's not what I asked."

Lakota said nothing. She just stared apathetically at the advisor.

"I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, Shepard, but I'm here to help you." When he realized his plea fell on deaf ears, Udina tried a new tactic. "Do I need to remind you that as a Spectre you are representing the best that humanity has to offer?"

"Advisor, I appreciate your concern, but let me remind you of something." Lakota's arms fell loosely to her sides as her back straightened and her shoulders squared—she now stood an inch taller than Udina and her gaze looked down upon him. "I _am_ a Spectre. I _do_ answer to the Council. And my jurisdiction, my actions, are _both _beyond your control."

Lakota turned on her heel and walked away.

**########################**

By the time Lakota reached the Alliance's docking bay, it was early in the evening. The _Normandy's_ repair crews were still working on the outer hull and Lakota took a moment to observe their progress. As her eyes slipped over the graceful shape of the frigate, a subtle, doting smile adorned her lips. Then she took in a deep, cleansing breath and slowly exhaled.

Out of the corner of her eye, the Spectre saw a familiar, hulking figure step up to meet her.

Her smile widened. "Wrex."

"Shepard." The krogan's face was, per norm, unreadable.

They stood, side by side, in silence, watching sparks fly as a technician used an angle grinder to prep a section of hull for repair.

"What happened with C-Sec?" asked the Battlemaster. "They try to pin those deaths on you?"

"Not only that," said Lakota, "but Mario Torres' murder, as well."

"Murder? I thought Torres was being detained by C-Sec."

"He was, but someone shot him," informed Lakota. "A sniper with an impressive aim."

"That's an interesting coincidence."

"I know," said the Spectre. "Too bad I don't believe in them."

They were silent again for a moment, and then Lakota asked, "What do you think about them?"

"Hard to prepare for," replied Wrex.

Lakota chuckled. "Very true."

"For a dumb bunch of humans, the Reds have some reach." Wrex continued to watch the repairs being made to the ship.

"They knew when Torres was being moved," agreed the Spectre. "Knew the route he was going to be led, that he was going to be alone and the moment he stepped into range. Like he had a tracking device on him."

"And knew which guards were going to be on the scene," Wrex said. "They knew who'd cooperate."

"You're not cynically suggesting," said Lakota, "that the keepers are sometimes as corruptible as the kept?"

"C-Sec is its own place. There's no connection with how people live anywhere else. Everybody in C-Sec is a prisoner. The guards just get to go home at night."

"Well, I'm not surprised."

"Nor am I."

"It was a nice shot," said Lakota.

"One you could have made?" questioned the krogan.

The Spectre grinned. "Wrex, please…I'm a bit offended you had to ask."

Turning his head toward the Spectre, Wrex asked, "What's your plan?"

"First, I'm heading to Chakwas, so she can cure this headache. Then I am going to have dinner with Liara. In the morning, I will catch up on my reports. And finally, in the afternoon, I will be heading to Las Catacumbas to find Finch." Lakota added, "Going to find out if Lysandra's information is bona fide."

"So you plan to keep blundering along annoying people and see what happens next."

"That sums it up well."

"You'll need someone watching your back," stated Wrex.

"Isn't that what you're doing?"

"I'm a krogan Battlemaster. Not a sidekick. '"

Lakota thought for a moment. "How about we wade into Las Catacumbas together? I'll cover point, you take out everything behind me."

"That sounds more appropriate."

**########################**

Dr. Liara T'Soni walked into the Commander's personal quarters as though on a mission.

Lakota was standing in front of her desk. Her left hand held a small mirror in front of her face while her right held a wet cotton cloth. She was dabbing a warm antiseptic wash upon one of the newly acquired cuts from the explosion. When she heard the mechanical swoosh of the door, she turned her head, catching sight of her lover, and thought "Oh my". She did this—or some variation of it every time she saw Liara. Big, blue eyes; svelte, lissome shape; plus an indefinable hint of intelligent sensuality. To Lakota, she radiated a kind of excitement, the possibility of infinite promise.

"Doctor," greeted Lakota pleasantly. She stopped dabbing at her cuts in order to focus fully on the swaying hips moving toward her.

"Commander," replied the asari. "I was heading to the med lab when I saw Dr. Chakwas…"

"That sounds like the lead-in to a bad joke."

Liara briskly walked up the Spectre and took the wet cloth from her hand. "You would be the one to know about bad jokes, Commander." Then the asari dabbed the cloth in the bowl holding the warm wash and proceeded to gently clean the small cuts and scrapes upon her lover's face. Shaking her head, she sighed, "Goddess… you certainly have a way with people."

Lakota put the mirror on the desk and then squared her shoulders to Liara giving the asari a better view of her injuries. "You should see the other guy."

"I would rather not." Liara's eyes quickly assessed the damage done to her lover, who was dressed in a white tank top and heather grey sweat pants. She was also barefoot—purple polish adorning each toenail. Liara proceeded to locate each and every cut and scrape upon her lover's hands, face and neck, but found no abrasions on the arms. "What have I told you about protecting my property?"

"Um… If I don't take good care of it, you'll lock me in a Prothean ruin and throw away the key?"

"Exactly." Liara's hand reached up and affectionately tucked a loose strand of hair being her lover's ear. "I am glad you have been paying attention, Commander."

"Doctor," replied Lakota, "I think it's fair to say that I pay attention to everything about you."

"Oh, really?" Liara's fingers gently grazed a discolored bump on the left side of her lover's forehead. "And did you happen to pay attention to what Dr. Chakwas told you?"

"Oh yeah," said the Spectre. "Chakwas went completely 'old school' after she scanned me."

"Old school?"

"She gave me two aspirins and told me to call her in the morning."

The asari frowned. "That seems unlike her. She is normally very fastidious when it comes to explosions and head trauma."

"Fastidious?"

"I am working on expanding my descriptive vernacular."

"Vernacular?"

"Is my elocution difficult to follow, Commander?" teased Liara.

"Indeed it is, Doctor." Lakota reached around and playfully patted her lover's rear. "But is not your verbiage that I find beguiling."

Liara smiled and continued to clean the Commander's wounds with the antiseptic solution. "So why did Dr. Chakwas let you go?"

"She's seen me in worse shape. In the big scheme of injuries I've had, you could equate this…," Lakota pointed to the bump on her forehead, "to a hangnail."

"I do not recall ever hearing about someone slipping into a coma from a hangnail."

"See… that's why she let me go."

"And because she knew I would be here to watch you," concluded Liara astutely.

"I may have let that slip."

Liara rinsed out the cloth and then tenderly brushed a small cut on her lover's neck. The touch sent a tingling sensation down Lakota's spine.

"So… how did this happen?" asked Liara.

Lakota told her about the meeting with Lysandra, the Reds, and after the explosion, Executor Pallin and Udina.

"Lysandra has _three_ doctorates from Serrice?" Liara's voice sounded disbelieving.

"That's what she claims."

"Impressive."

"She's no Prothean expert."

"No," said Liara. "Few are." She pursed her lips together momentarily, which gave her face a perplexed appearance, and then asked, "How did the Reds know where you would be?"

"Not sure. They could have followed us."

"You mean followed the commandos who were following you."

"Yeah… exactly."

"Does that seem plausible?" questioned Liara. "That neither you nor Wrex noticed them?"

"No," replied the Spectre.

"So they knew where you were going to be."

"Most likely," said Lakota. "But I don't know if Lysandra told them or if one of her 'employees' told them or if they tapped her network or if a fortune teller told them or if they're really good guessers."

"That is a lot of 'ifs'"

Lakota nodded her head. "Too many to count."

"And the grenade?"

"In truth, that troubles me the most," said Lakota. "Obviously, it wasn't C-Sec. They would've approached us directly. And Lysandra doesn't make sense. If she wanted us dead, she would have sent her commandos or—if she's as good as Wrex says, she would have come at us herself. So that just leaves the Reds…"

"And if it was the Reds," Liara leaned in until her forehead gently touched Lakota's, "then that means they were willing to kill their own to stop you."

The commander wrapped her arms around her lover's waist pulling their bodies together in a tender, but tight embrace. "Yep."

Neither moved for a moment, then suddenly Liara's fingers were woven in Lakota's hair and she pressed her mouth hard against her lovers'. Their bodies seemed to blend together as hips met and legs intertwined. Then the asari's lips parted and her tongue slipped between the Spectre's, deepening the kiss with its slow, sensual exploration. Lakota met her lover's smoldering caresses with an ardent response of her own—fingertips salaciously raking a path across Liara's shoulders, down her back and then digging into the most sensitive spot of her lower back.

Liara pulled away, inhaling sharply. "Commander."

"Doctor?" Lakota's breathing was heavy and deep.

"Take off your clothes. I need to make sure no further damage was done to my property."

"Excellent idea, Doctor. Why didn't I think of that?"

"You are not a Prothean expert."

"True. But I'm a quick study."

"Prove it, Commander."

"Oh no…" murmured Lakota, "you're the expert. You prove it."

And Liara did. Many times.

**Next Chapter: The Route**


	4. The Route

**Author's Note:**

Sorry for the delay in updates. While in the midst of writing this story, new ideas blossomed and I had to stop in order to fully incorporate them into the plot. That has been done, the story is now fully plotted and chapters are being written. Woo-hoo!

Thank you to those who have Fav'd, Alert'd and Review'd this story. Because your feedback and interest continue to motivate me, I hope you continue to enjoy the unfolding tale. *grin*

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: The Route<strong>

Wrex and Lakota walked through the dilapidated ruins of the Bachjret Ward. Night had fallen in the artificially controlled environment and the incandescent light fixtures that remained working illuminated the path in a patchwork pattern of light and shadow. This Ward hadn't incurred as much damage as other areas of the space station, but wreckage and debris were still littered throughout the streets, and the keepers- mute, spider-like alien creatures who maintained the Citadel's vital systems- were not an uncommon sight. The Wards were the residential centers of the Citadel, each essentially a self-contained city and home to millions, with a population density equal to the Earth cities of Singapore or Hong Kong. Each Ward was filled with apartment buildings, divisional streets, marketplaces, skyscrapers and anything else that you would find in a metropolitan city. The krogan and human had hailed a cab to get to this section of the Citadel- the Normandy docking was too far away for a sane person to walk.

The Spectre slowed her pace momentarily as she studied the area around them- the layout of the living area they were in resembled the neighborhood in Mexico City where she had grown up. The unexpected sight slammed into Lakota's chest like a runaway tram and stole the breath she was about to take. Stupefied by the disorienting structures before her, she stopped mid-stride and surveyed the area. Metallic buildings were lined up in rows and segmented by busy, clutter filled streets: a clutter of people, a clutter of refuse, and a clutter of childhood memories that forced their way into her thoughts. Even the dry, processed air of the Citadel's purifiers felt suffocatingly cluttered with the stench of too many people packed into too small a space. From the ramshackle state of the area around them, it appeared that no keepers had recently been to this vicinity. Torn bulkheads still showed signs of plasma damage while fragments of ripped metal were littered across the path before them.

Oddly, Lakota noted that there was no breeze upon the air. But there was never a breeze in an artificial environment… or sunshine, or rain, or clouds or snow. The environment was always sterile. Fabricated. Scrubbed and cleaned and manufactured for the masses. In her mind she knew that the dim rays of twilight were just an automated environmental process and that at any time a switch could be thrown and manufactured daylight could shine down. She looked up at the skyscrapers and knew they had been built to be sealed against a vacuum as the atmosphere in the Ward was only maintained to a certain height. Then she turned her focus to the people milling around her- various collections of humans, krogans, asari, and turians herded themselves down the corridors of the Ward heading to unknown destinations. Others stood in groups, talking amongst themselves, commenting on the state of the ongoing repairs or talking politics- particularly about the new seat on the Citadel Council that was given to the humans.

The everyday moment metamorphosed into a surreal scene as Lakota's unwelcome memories of Mexico City overlapped with the current imagery before her.

Noticing the Spectre's distracted state, Wrex turned and asked, "Everything okay, Shepard?"

"What?" Shaken out of her uncomfortable reverie by the tenor of the krogan's voice, Lakota answered, "Yeah, I'm fine." Reflexively she checked her Mercenary X armor and the arsenal of weaponry she carried. She resumed walking next to the krogan as her fingers slid along the reassuring contours of her sniper rifle, _Styx_ - the feel of the familiar metal helping her regain her composure. "The smell just knocked me on my ass."

The aroma of cooking meat meandered through the stale processed air giving both scents an amplified potency.

"It is full-bodied," agreed the krogan.

Proceeding without further comment, Wrex and Lakota continued their trek through the overcrowded streets of people and debris, weaving their way down one dark alleyway after another. The journey through the Ward and the shifting scenery helped Lakota shake the last vestiges of the past from her mind's eye. She was surprised by the vigor of those unheralded memories. Searching for Finch was churning up a past she had thought she'd put to rest and the fact that it was randomly infiltrating her daily life did not make her happy.

"Starting out later than expected, Shepard," said Wrex after they turned down a brightly lit, but empty street.

"Yeah," said Lakota. "Although a Spectre is given a wide berth by most of the Council members, Anderson isn't so remiss. I met with him this afternoon and explained things."

"Bureaucracy is a giant mechanism operated by little minds."

Lakota chuckled. "And the only thing that saves us from it is its inefficiency."

They turned down another alleyway- this one full of wreckage and long, dark shadows- and then they stopped in front of simple looking metal building with one entrance. The grey sliding door looked as though it was barely tall enough for Wrex to walk through. A handmade sign above the threshold read "The Void" and beyond it was a makeshift bar- one that had always existed in the Ward, just unofficially.

Before stepping into the building, Lakota asked, "So… your guy knows where the entrance of Las Catacumbas is?"

"That's what he said."

"And if he doesn't"

Wrex snorted. "He's not stupid enough to pretend he does."

They walked through the entryway and into a room that looked more like a storage unit than a bar. As the Spectre looked closer, she noticed the lack of windows and doors, and then she realized that it was a storage unit which had been conveniently, but not creatively, converted into a drinking establishment. The rectangular room was spacious, but dingy and the stainless steel bar, behind which stood a turian bartender, ran with the length of the longest wall. Two dozen bar stools were positioned along the bar table's edge and two thirds of those stools were filled by turian and krogan. The rest of the stools had been pushed aside for the patrons that preferred to stand.

The low lighting of the room originated from a handful of fixtures that had been placed in no particular pattern on the walls- seemingly as an afterthought. As though someone only realized they needed light after the entry door had closed. The rest of the space was filled with numerous low-top tables and chairs strewn around the room- again, in no particular pattern. Even though their placement was scattered and most of them were filled with patrons, there was still plenty of room to maneuver between the various chairs and tables.

One of the advantages of drinking with Wrex was that even in a crowded bar, you always had elbow room. Nobody ever talked loud around Wrex. Nobody ever crowded him. So although several people watched them covertly as they walked through the bar, everyone had been sure to move out of their way. Shepard liked this convenient caveat when hanging out with the krogan.

It didn't take long for Wrex to spot the table he wanted in the far left corner, and then he walked over to it and sat down- his back to the room. Sitting across from him, in the corner, was another krogan. Lakota remained standing just to the side of Wrex. Close enough to hear and participate in the conversation, but far enough to keep an eye on the movements in the rest of the establishment.

"Wrex," said the other krogan.

"Drakog."

"The green-eyed human next to me is Shepard," Wrex said. He looked over to Lakota and introduced the krogan across from him. "Urdnot Drakog. My clan brother."

The krogan and human nodded at each other. Drakog's hands were lying on the table and between them was a large mug full of a dark, odorous liquid. He had a dark brown hide and his shoulder hump was distinctive. It wasn't as large as Wrex's, but bigger than most others in the bar. The black armor he wore obscured much of his appearance in the low luminance of the room. Lakota assumed it was purposeful.

"You notice how out of place you are here, Shepard?" asked Drakog.

Lakota was the only human in the building. "I do," she said.

"So how does it make you feel?"

"Like clinging to Wrex, but I'm too proud."

Wrex grinned, but stayed silent.

"Well," commented Drakog, "at least you don't apologize for being human."

"Not my fault," quipped Lakota.

Wrex's clan brother eyed the Spectre, his expression unchanging. "I never met a human I could trust."

Lakota ignored the remark.

He lifted the drink in front of him and took a long swig. "I never met one I liked."

Lakota continued to stare at him, holding her tongue, her expression blank.

Taking another long drink, Drakog said, "I never met one that wasn't a quad-less xenophobe, either." He narrowed his eyes menacingly at Lakota. "You a xenophobe?"

"Not till now," replied Shepard.

Wrex's chuckle sounded like low, rolling thunder.

"You fucking with me?" ask Drakog. Even though krogan facial expressions were difficult to read, Lakota could see the surprise that was etched in his face, as though no human had ever dared talk to him like that before.

"I am," she said.

Drakog leaned back in his chair and put his mug down. "You aren't scared of me, are you?"

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Lakota replied, "Nope."

"Most humans, you get in their face, they get scared."

"That's a racist reaction."

Wrex didn't say anything, but there was still a hint of amusement around his eyes.

"I usually count on it," said Drakog.

"Sorry to disappoint." Lakota relaxed her stance and let her arms fall to her sides.

Drakog looked at the Spectre one second longer, and then turned his gaze to Wrex. "You vouching for her?"

Wrex answered by narrowing his eyes in annoyance.

Nodding his head in understanding, Drakog began to tell them what they wanted to know. "Las Catacumbas is run by the humans, but they still let other species in. Make more money that way."

"Where is today's entrance?" asked Lakota.

Too proud to answer to a human, Drakog ignored the question.

"Answer her, Drakog before I get edgy and my shotgun accidently goes off in your face."

"It won't do you any good without the pass phrase," countered Drakog.

Wrex sighed heavily, his annoyance growing exponentially.

"An electronics store," blurted Drakog, his bravado falling in face of Wrex's irritation. "Go out the bar, turn right and four doors down you'll find it. Can't miss it."

Lakota grinned and Drakog saw her. Instantly, he slammed both fists on the table and stood. At his full height he was a foot taller than the Spectre and there was fury in his dark red eyes as he looked down on her.

"You think anyone in here will help you if I decide to come upside your head, human!" barked Drakog. His whole body shook with rage.

Without missing a beat, Lakota said, "Two answers. One, I wouldn't need any help. And two, he would." Lakota gestured with her head toward Wrex.

Surprised, Drakog looked at Wrex. "You would do that?"

"Two answers," said Wrex. He was still seated in his chair. "One, I would. And two, I wouldn't need to."

His righteous indignation having no focal point, Drakog seemed to deflate in front of them and then he sat down. At that moment, he spotted the Spectre's HMWP pistol pointed at him. She'd drawn it without him noticing.

Wrex stood just as his clan brother sat. "See you soon, Drakog… but not too soon." Then he turned and walked toward the entrance while Lakota holstered her pistol and fell in stride next to him.

When they reached the entrance Lakota said, "That was refreshing."

Wrex chuckled. "Drakog is a bit headstrong."

"He is," Lakota agreed.

Once they were outside of the bar, they headed toward the electronics store and Lakota took note of the change in their surroundings. Instead of twilight, the sky was now pitch black and the noise level from machinery and people which echoed through the streets had dropped to a whisper. They turned upon another littered alleyway and saw the store's sign halfway down on the right-hand side, just as Drakog had said.

"Been thinking about Torres' murder," said Wrex, as they walked. His stride was even and methodical.

"Yeah? What did you come up with?"

Wrex stopped before getting to the entrance of the store and then turned to face Lakota. "Not everyone can organize such a precise assassination."

"No," agreed the Spectre. Since he was over seven feet tall, she had to look up in order to meet his gaze. "But a lot of people have money… and there's always somebody who has a connection with someone who can talk to a guy. Or girl."

"True," said Wrex. "Be best for us to stay alert in Las Catacumbas. Believe it or not, I think a lot of people would be willing to kill _you_ for nothing."

Lakota nodded her head. "So we're agreed. We keep going about our business finding Finch and see who takes another run at us."

"What's this 'we' business?"

"You can't let me get killed," said Lakota. "Nobody else likes you."

Wrex grinned, if you could call it that, and they walked into the electronics store.

**To be continued… **

**Next up: Las Catacumbas**


	5. Las Catacumbas

****Chapter 5: Las Catacumbas****

J & J Electronics was nothing special, except for the fact that it was the current gateway into a human run underworld called Las Catacumbas. It was that reason—and that reason alone, which brought Urdnot Wrex and Commander Lakota Shepard down to the lower reaches of the Bachjret Ward and into the discolored, grimy electronics store.

Inside the building were a lot of dusty shelves lined up in rows, each filled with new, used or repaired equipment. At the back of the store sat a human—a tall, boney man with a sparse crew cut and thin grey, movie villain moustache. The man wore rimless sunglasses, and his arms were long and thin. He was narrow and hard-looking. He wore no coat and under his tan polo shirt an incongruous potbelly pressed out, as if he was hiding a soccer ball.

Some humans liked to grow facial hair because they thought it made "the aliens" jealous. Lakota thought the moustache on this man would most likely make them laugh.

Without a word or sideway glance, Lakota walked to the back of the store and stood in front of the severe looking man. In flawless Spanish she said, "Somos espectros que no pueden existir en ningun otro lugar. No somos nadie..." _[__W__e are ghosts that cannot exist anywhere else. We are no one…]_

The man looked at Wrex then shifted his gaze to the Spectre. He said, "Fantasmas." _[Phantoms.]_

The wall behind the man slid open revealing a shadowy entrance to a stairwell which led below. The man motioned his head indicating that they should continue through the threshold and down the stairs.

**########################**

Wrex and Lakota reached the bottom platform and it opened up into larger room with four other humans sitting around at the end of the corridor.

"My translator stopped working while we were in the store," said Wrex.

"Yeah," said Lakota, "mine, too. It's working now though. They must have a portable dampener."

"Makes sense," said Wrex. "Would keep the unwanted away."

Lakota chuckled. "You'd better know your Spanish though." As they headed down the passageway, she repeated the phase she'd spoken to the man upstairs and the reply he'd given.

"Humans…" grumbled Wrex. "Always trying to be cryptic…"

When they reached the end of the corridor, the four humans—all men—stood up. Each had on a suit of light amour and assault rifles in their hands. They looked ready for a fight. One of them put his hand to his ear as though he was listening to some comm traffic, then he pointed to the double door just behind him and stepped aside. With a mechanical swoosh the gigantic doors opened revealing an extraordinary sight—a whole new world.

Las Catacumbas was a small city under a very large city. It was a carnival blended with a bazaar. It was a modern casino mixed with a medieval emporium. It was pure madness. It was loud, and brash, and chaotic, but it was also quite spectacular. The whole marketplace encompassed an entire city block with colorful hanging lights outlining the perimeter. No automated lighting system existed in this space below the Citadel, so portable power cells fed energy to various lanterns and lamps strewn about and above the area. Hundreds of people in the plaza argued, haggled, shouted, and sang. They hawked and touted their wares and loudly claimed the superiority of their merchandise. Music was playing—a dozen different kinds on dozens of different instruments and most of it improvised, but captivating nonetheless. The smell of food wafted easily through the air. All kinds of food—the smells of curries and spices were predominant and beneath them, the smells of cooking meats. Everybody was buying. Everybody was selling.

Stalls had been set up throughout the compound and they were all hustling something: weapons, handmade goods, clothing, trinkets or personal services. In between those were stalls selling food. Some had food cooking over open fires; others had exotic breads and nuts and prepackaged meals. Alcoholic beverages were ample throughout the compound as evidenced by the large number of animated humans walking around with mugs of frothy liquids and the sweet pungent scent of stale beer. There was a representation of every species either strolling though the market or attempting to sell something, but not surprisingly, humans were the most numerous.

"So… you think you'll find someone in this mess who knows Finch?" said Wrex.

"Yes. I think I will." Lakota surveyed the market wondering in which direction to start the search. "Finch's one true love is, and always has been, Red Sand. We find that; we'll find someone who knows him."

Lakota listened to the market cries as she and Wrex headed off into the crowds.

**########################**

The Spectre and krogan Battlemaster spent the next five hours exploring the haphazard ruckus of Las Catacumbas and even with a no-nonsense approach to their search they were only able to make it through half of the underground marketplace. Their time was consumed with asking questions, watching their surroundings and listening to the ranging scuttlebutt. People talked about the battle with Sovereign—or as the Citadel Council spun it—the geth. They talked about politics, sports, who they'd been sleeping with and what the topside environment was like on various planets. Credits exchanged hands freely as people bought and sold and wagered on anything that wasn't nailed down. Especially the drugs. The psychotropic substances such as Hallex, Reefer, and Minagen X3 were commonplace in this city below and every other vendor knew of a supplier.

None of it had interested Lakota. None of it had impressed her, either. She had spent sixteen years of her life in the slums of Mexico City and ten of those had been as a member of the Tenth Street Reds. She'd personally sold, trafficked and bought drugs. She'd seen them custom made in labs and seen them destroyed in raids. She'd seen gangs go to war over them and seen blood spilled for their possession. The montage of those experiences had given her a unique insight into the backbone of the illegal drug trafficking and the means by which they were manufactured and distributed. Since she joined the Alliance, she'd been out of that arena, but she still knew the language, and could still conjure the attitude needed to be seen as authentic buyer with genuine interest in the product. The only problem, and a curious oddity, Red Sand wasn't prolific in this human run underground. Everyone knew what it was, but nobody knew where to get it. This atypical omission gave the Spectre a strange feeling—like being the only one in the room that hadn't been told the punch line to the joke. It also meant that nobody was able to help them locate their target.

Frustrated beyond measure, Lakota was about to suggest they try a different tactic when break they were looking for appeared out of nowhere. Tomas Finch strolled in front of her.

"Hellfire," murmured Lakota in surprise. She caught Wrex's attention and gestured with her head toward the oblivious man who was now walking away from them.

They followed Finch at a discrete distant while he meandered through the collage of people. He slowed down at a weapons stall but his interest in their product was negligible. As he continued his trek, the Spectre and Battlemaster saw him turn down an offer for a private adventure from a good-looking, human woman in a tight red dress and white shoes. He stopped at one of the food stalls and bought some meat on a stick from a man who looked too old and too tired and when the old man flashed a grin there was no humor in it or in the eyes which were as flat as stones. After taking a bite out of the meat, Finch moved off and entered a building that looked part tent and part storage unit. Lakota was familiar with the small structure's design— a fabric and hard-walled expandable shelter. The Alliance used something similar when setting up portable camps. Lakota thought this type of unit would be ideal for a migrating city.

Wrex and Lakota surveyed the building and surrounding area before moving in any closer. From the outside, the Spectre discerned three unique rooms making the building one of the largest in Las Catacumbas. She could tell where the rooms were separated because each had walls made out of distinctive materials. The room Finch entered into appeared to be made of fabric which was connected to a room with walls of sheet metal, which connected to a room with walls of a thick metal alloy. While Wrex watched the entry door, Lakota took one pass around the perimeter—there were no other doors into the structure. This meant there was no way for Finch to leave the building without being seen by them.

Lakota, having finished her outer survey, stood next to Wrex looking at everything at once—the building's entrance, the crowds of people walking by, the string of lamps above them that illuminated the area.

"You have a plan?" asked the krogan.

"Plan?" said Lakota. "Isn't 'let's go get Finch' enough?"

"How long did it take you to come up with that?"

"Just thought of it," said the Spectre. Deftly, she drew her pistol from its holster and held it against her thigh, barrel pointed to the ground, making sure not to draw the attention of the people moving around them.

"I can see why the Alliance thinks you're a strategic genius."

"It's a gift."

**########################**

The first room they entered was a sleeping area set up with some unkempt cots and tables littered with dirty plates and half eaten food. Once in the room, Wrex pulled out his shotgun and chambered a round. Seeing nothing of interest, they continued into the adjoining room which was larger than the first, but much more cluttered. Lab equipment, long rectangular tables and large packing crates filled the cramped space. A familiar scent drifted along the air causing the Spectre to take a lengthy glance at the equipment and the tables scattered with latex gloves, respirator masks, plastic bags, and coated with a fine layer of red dust. Lakota recognized what this room was immediately—a sand lab.

Another door was at the end of the far wall, but Lakota silently halted their progress with raised her hand. She pointed to a table full of papers and to the open crates in the corner - indicating that she wanted to explore the area before moving on. The only door in and out of this building was behind her, so the Spectre wasn't concerned about Finch escaping.

Wrex moved over to the tables and Lakota headed toward the crates.

Keeping her voice low, Lakota said, "A red sand lab… right here in the middle of Las Catacumbas, so why is nobody selling it?"

"Or trying to buy it," added Wrex. As he rummaged through the papers, he found multiple Citadel maintenance badges—all with the same photo. "Finch seems to have four different ID cards in four different names." He shifted his gaze to Lakota. "That seems dishonest to me."

The Spectre kneeled next to open packing crate, examining a shipping label that was adhered to the side. "This is odd. None of the markings on these crates are from the Reds. Or from Earth. And they're normally narcissistic… always tagging their crates with some kind of signature." She walked over to inspect another case, tracing the markings with her fingers as though reading Braille. "These images over here look like letters from the asari language. The labels say Khieni Corporation. And these…" Lakota took a long hard look at the unopened crate next to her. "Wait a minute… I know this image."

The Spectre moved over to the new case, thoroughly scrutinizing the symbol that reminded her of a Reaper ship. When she was absolutely certain she looked at Wrex and, in a tone that fluctuated with the low rumble of unbridled rage, she said one word. "Cerberus."

"The terrorists conducting experiments on anything more powerful than them… in the name of humanity." Wrex shook his head in disgust. The krogan genophage sourced his contempt of depraved genetic research in the guise of altruistic pursuits. "Idiots only succeeded in creating deadlier husks."

Lakota's voice was soft and hoarse and full of venom. "They were responsible for Akuze." She breathed in deeply through her nose in an attempt to quell the rising storm surging through her body.

Wrex glanced at her before asking the question on both of their minds. "What are shipments from an asari corporation and rogue, black-ops organization doing here?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," said Lakota with resolute certainty. She activated her omni-tool and captured a digital image the shipping container labels and the ID badges Wrex found. She slipped the badges into an empty utility pouch on her belt, and then returned to the Cerberus marked crate and proceeded to open it. "I want to know what they're shipping."

Wrex kept an eye on both doorways as the Spectre took off the lid and revealed a case full of pink packing peanuts. "Must be shipping something breakable," she said before plunging her hand into to crate. When she didn't find anything, she stuck her other hand in and then proceeded to use both to fully explore the innards of the box. Other than the packing peanuts, it was empty.

"Seems odd Cerberus would ship an empty crate," said Wrex.

"Yes, it does." Lakota looked at the crate for a long moment and then picked up one of the packing peanuts, twirling it around in her fingers. "This is odd. Normally, packing peanuts are made out of Styrofoam, but this…" The Spectre broke the peanut in half, brought it to her nose and sniffed. "This is no ordinary packing peanut."

Wrex glanced over at Lakota while she was eyeing the small pink object. "What did you say that the Reds taught you?"

"What I got out of them was something akin to 'knowledge is power, power is corrupt, so study hard and be evil."

"Do packing peanuts seem evil to you?"

"No, but pink does."

Lakota shuffled over to box with the asari label and repeated her efforts, but with more satisfying results. The crate contained large cylindrical jars jammed tightly within layers of soft packing material. The clear glass-like containers were affixed with airtight seals on the top and a label written in the asari language on the side. The commander took a jar out of the crate and raised it up into the light in order to get a better view of the contents—a powdery substance that had an ocean blue hue. She moved over to the lab table and opened the cylinder. Then she took her armored glove off and stuck her fingers in the jar. The blue substance had the consistency of a very fine powdered sugar.

Knowing they were running out of time, Lakota filled a plastic bag from one of the tables with the blue powder and then grabbed a handful of the pink peanuts and stuck them both into her utility pouch with the badges.

After putting her maroon Mercenary X glove back on she turned to Wrex. "Enough dawdling. Let's go find Finch."

"'Bout time we have some fun," replied the krogan.

Images from her past raced unheeded through Lakota's mind rekindling the flame of her ferocity and desire for restitution for those long dead. Ghastly visions depicting the annihilation of her crew in Mexico City at the hands of the Reds and replaying the decimation of her platoon on Akuze at hands of Cerberus plagued her psyche. All of those deaths she thought she'd laid to rest were now unearthed… and from the depths of those defiled graves stared back the blank, soulless eyes of the restless dead– their gazes boring into her very core. As a soldier, the commander was familiar with death and dying, but these were the endings for which she'd never truly found closure. The hunt for Finch and the discovery of a Cerberus connection had rattled Lakota's cage in such a way that memory and emotion surged in her soul like a tempest saturating her frustration level to its limit. She wanted to hit something or someone… hard.

The Spectre, with pistol drawn, and the Battlemaster, with shotgun in hand, walked down a narrow hallway and then entered into the last room of the building. There they found Tomas Finch, alone, in an alloy-metal storage room.

He was wearing a coffee-colored, course weave turtle-neck, tan slacks and sitting on a small folding chair. He looked in good shape, but it was difficult to confirm from his seated, slightly crouched position. His attention was drawn solely to his business at hand – cutting and lining up rows of Red Sand with a utility blade on a metal-top table. Even though his short, shaggy red hair fell in front of his eyes, he was an expert at his task- fast, precise and no sand was left outside his lines. He was so focused that he didn't notice the Spectre and Battlemaster entering into the room.

Not until Lakota cleared her throat.

Finch looked up with the bland expressionless stare. It took him a few seconds to center in on the pair and then the moment turned into one of those in which you could hear a pin drop. His hands began to shake. "Shepard?" he said questioningly. The recognition showed on his face like a grimace. "Shit!"

"Hey, Finchy." Lakota leveled a steely gaze at the nervous man. "You remembered." She holstered her pistol and advanced toward her old comrade. Seeing him face to face reignited her fury all over again. "I'm kind of surprised though, since you seem to have forgotten what I told you a few months ago…" She stood next to Finch, towering over him as he dropped the blade, unable to look anywhere but into the Spectre's pale green eyes. "That I would kill you if I saw you back on the Citadel."

"You can't get away with murder!" screamed Finch. He tried to jump back from the woman but only succeeded in tangling himself in his chair and tumbling to the ground.

"Really?" With a feral grin, Lakota said, "You don't know much about Spectres, do you?"

Panic cemented in his widening eyes as Finch began to scoot quickly across the dirty floor on his hands and butt trying to escape the figure looming over him. After moving a few feet, his path was halted by a solid metal wall. The man pressed himself against the obstruction as if attempting to disappear into it and raised both hands before him in a defensive posture. "Please," he begged, "please don't kill me. They told me to come back."

The Spectre stepped close to the man, leaning down- her lips inches away from his ear. In a low, eerie voice, she whispered, "Who told you to come back?"

"I don't know," whimpered the man.

Lakota stood up and with her left hand backhanded the quivering man's face. The blow hit with such velocity that the back of Finch's head smacked the wall. Then, in a normal tone, she repeated her question. "Who told you to come back?"

"I don't know! I swear to God!"

A blind rage like a fire swept through her as both of Lakota's hands grabbed onto the front fabric of his shirt and then forcibly pulled him to his feet. "DON'T SWEAR TO GOD," she yelled, her face inches from him. "SWEAR TO ME!" She ruthlessly slammed the man back into the wall, her adrenaline filled frenzy adding enough power behind her attack to force the air out of his lungs. "WHO TOLD YOU TO COME BACK?"

"I don't know. I don't know. I don't know," cried out Finch. The words had been said so fast that they seemed to blend together. "I got a message…"

"WAS IT THE REDS?"

"No… not from the Reds. I left them. I swear to…" Finch stopped midsentence stops and flinched as though expecting another blow. Blood from a cut on his lower lip made an angry red trail down his chin and dripped onto his sweater.

Wrex had moved close to a corner in order to be able to watch both the door and Finch. He looked on the interrogation scene without expression.

Lakota breathed in deeply and then took a step back from Finch, her eyes burrowing menacingly into his standing, frozen form. "Who then?"

"I don't know. I was on Eden Prime and a message arrived. Said if I returned to the Citadel, did a job, then I would get big rewards. The message came with link to an account. If I took the creds, than I took the job."

"And you took the creds," said Lakota, her tone now sounding reasonable.

Finch nodded his head.

"Without knowing what the job was?"

"It was a lot of money. I was having a rough time."

"I'll bet," she said, her voice dripping with acidic undertones. "What was the job?"

His eyes had a pleading look to them. "Take out Torres."

The Spectre nodded her head as the pieces of the puzzle started coming together. "Okay. Job's done. Now what?"

"I don't know. I was waiting on another message."

Reining in her tightly contained fury, Lakota said, "Listen, Finch. My argument is not with you." In one swift move she drew her pistol and pressed the barrel into his forehead. "But I want to know who tried to frame me and then kill me… and I think that's the same person who hired you."

Finch didn't move. He didn't say a word. Fear had pervaded ever pore of his being, rooting him to where he stood.

With a look black and bottomless as the sea, the Spectre growled, "You will tell me… or you will die."

**Next Chapter: The Getaway**


	6. The Getaway

**Author's Note:**

For this chapter, it is important to know that Red Sand is a stimulant with biotic-enhancing properties. When taken nasally, it creates a brief but intense euphoria, and gives the user (whether he or she already possess biotic abilities or not) short-term biotic abilities.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: The Getaway<strong>

"_You will tell me… or you will die."_

Lakota increased the pressure of the pistol on Finch's forehead which seemed to make him shrink down in size. His eyes were shut tight and his whole body quivered as a lock of red hair fell across the gun's barrel. Blood from the wound on his lip continued to drip off his chin and onto his sweater. He didn't say a word.

Wrex was watching the doorway. It would have been a mistake to think he wasn't paying attention to the rest of the room though. He noticed everything.

"They had you kill Torres," said Lakota. "They killed three others with a grenade." Pausing for effect, the Spectre leaned in and then whispered, "What makes you think they're not going to want to shut you up, too?"

Even with the pistol pressing into forehead, Finch shook his head- either in denial or in lieu of answering.

"These are stone-cold killers, little man. They aren't cuddly like me," said Wrex. "You continue to fuck with this and they will kill you." The deep tenor of his voice added an underlining finality to the statement."

Finch's eyes opened wide, fear resonating in their piercing blue depths. Wrex's words rocked him. The krogan saying it somehow made it more forceful and disturbing. Lakota wondered how he got that effect and finally concluded that it was because Wrex didn't care. He didn't care if Finch believed him; he didn't care if Finch was killed.

As Finch opened his mouth to speak, a commotion sounded out from one of the other rooms. Lakota cursed under her breath, grabbed the front of Finch's sweater with her left hand and pulled him down to the ground, behind a cylindrical storage container. It wasn't large enough to offer full coverage, but its metal wall offered more protection than nothing. Wrex took cover behind a large shipping crate.

"We know you're in there, Spectre!" said a formless voice. Lakota guessed it originated from the sand lab. "Release Finch and you won't be harmed. We'll walk away and you can go free."

"Oh…" said Lakota, her tone was raised so it would carry to the other room, "that's tempting… let me think about it." She looked over the room trying to ascertain a route of escape. Not finding one, she looked over at Wrex who had come up with the same empty answer.

"Be reasonable, Spectre" said the formless voice, "there's no other way out."

Lakota looked over at Wrex. "Apparently, they think I'm stalling."

"You are," said the krogan.

"I know that and you know that, but I wish to hell _they_ didn't know that."

As Lakota's mind shuffled through a multitude of different getaway scenarios, Finch unexpectedly jerked away, leaping toward the small table he had been using to line up his Red Sand. Instinctively the Spectre reached out for the fleeing man, stepping out of cover momentarily and was immediately fired upon by the formless voice and his buddies. Diving back behind the cylinder, she heard the continuing burble of gunshots ring out as the bullets from multiple assault rifles imbedded themselves into the walls and crates around her. She even felt them ricochet off the metal container she was using as a shield.

Wrex had switched out his shotgun with his assault rifle and returned fire into the shadowy corridor that connected the lab keeping the formless voice and his friends from charging the room.

Lakota glanced over at Finch who was sprawled out on the floor- face down and on his belly. He was partial out of sight because the table he'd been using when they found him had been knocked over. Multiple small bags of Red Sand were lying on the ground as well as the product Finch had been preparing for himself. She could see his hands moving frantically along the ground, trying to sweep up the red, powdery substance that was spread across the floor. Then, as though a thirsty man whose day in the desert ended with a cup of cool, spring water, he began to greedily sniff what he'd collected. He swept his nose along the ground- a finger keeping one nostril closed, and inhaled every bit of dust there was to be found.

"Finch," said Lakota warily, "don't be stupid."

Her former comrade rolled behind the table for cover. "You think you're better than other people!"

While Wrex covered the entrance, Lakota focused on Finch. "Not everyone. Just the ones I'm better than."

Finch stood up- his face no longer adorning a look of fear. Now it had a look of maniacal rage. The very air around him seemed to be electrified with a rotating blue hue and his eyes, dilated to the point where they looked like black holes that were ready to pop out of their sockets.

"Oh shit…," said Lakota, "you've been sniffing the really good stuff, haven't you?"

Her pistol, which had been trained on him the whole time, rang out. The armor piercing ammo she used bounced ineffectually off the energy barrier the drug induced biotic had manifested.

Gunfire from the sand lab rained into the room once again. It was focused on both Wrex and Lakota keeping them behind their impromptu shields and low to the ground.

"DO YOU NOT KNOW DEATH WHEN YOU SEE IT?" screamed Finch at the top of his lungs. The inflection of his voice had an imposing, hysterical quality as though bellowed by a deranged man beset by personal demons. His arms were outstretched above his head in a V-like shape as if attempting to make his form bigger and a blue-white typhoon of energy swirled around him, energizing the air particles encompassing him which caused his red hair stand on end. "THIS IS MY HOUR!"

With his final words, Finch brought his straight arms down into a clap and sent a powerful biotic shockwave through the room which launched Lakota, the cylinder shield and excess debris into the air. Ultimately they all slammed hard upon the metal alloy wall behind Wrex and then fell slightly less hard upon the ground. The krogan had put up a biotic barrier that protected him from the buffeted energy attack and then he countered with successive rifle blasts. For protection, the drug addled man had raised a shield barrier and then ran out of the room.

As the gun fire from the sand lab continued to spray into the storage space, Wrex focused on the large crate in front of him. He gathered his biotic energy and forcefully pushed the crate into the doorway, lodging it corner-first between the metal studs which bent slightly by the force of the impact. Any and all line of sight or view of the corridor was gone. There was no way in, but now there was also no way out.

"Shepard?"

"Wrex." Lakota slowly picked herself up off the ground shrugging the stiffness from her back and shoulders. The combat exoskeleton upgrade on her Mercenary X armor absorbed some of the impact force when she hit the wall, but not enough for her to avoid all discomfort. "That's gonna leave a mark." She immediately returned to the task of seeking another way out of the disheveled room.

"There's no way out now, Spectre!" The formless voice was muffled by the large shipping crate.

"He's gotta get a new line," groused Lakota.

The formless voice sounded out again. "We'll blow your ass out of that room if we have to!"

Lakota rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"You asked for it," said Wrex.

"NOW they start listening to me?"

Movement could be heard on the other side of the jammed shipping container and both the krogan and human assumed someone was setting up an explosive device to clear the threshold.

"The crate won't keep them out for long," said Wrex.

"I know." Lakota playfully offered the first thought that came to mind. "We could charge 'em. Full frontal assault."

"Might as well shoot ourselves here," said Wrex. "Save us the time waiting for them."

Lakota walked toward the back of the room and examined the posterior wall. "We're not going to die, Wrex. We're too pretty."

"Shepard, I'm krogan. Krogan aren't _**pretty**_."

"Then I'll be pretty for the both of us." Lakota pointed toward the wall. "What kind of ammo are you carrying?"

Following the Spectre's train of thought, Wrex said, "The right kind." He pulled out his assault rifle and immediately changed out the tungsten rounds for inferno rounds. "We won't have much time once I start shooting. And they may have someone on the outside."

Lakota walked over to the table lying on its side. "I'm counting on it." Small plastic bags of Red Sand were lying on the ground, the same substance that Finch had snorted. She kneeled down and gathered up a half dozen bags and put them in her utility pouch with the other items she took from the sand lab. When she was done, she stood and then activated her omni-tool and began to punch in some activation codes. "When I swept the perimeter, I left a few flashy and explosive surprises. I'll be able to set the bombs off with a push of a button. I want to wait though… until we get a good look at who wants us dead."

"What's this 'us'? They want you dead, not me."

"Awww… Wrex. You have to look at the big picture. They don't care who they shoot, just as long as they shoot someone. I'd bet my reputation on that."

"Shepard," said the krogan, "you don't have a reputation."

"Okay, so it's not a risky bet."

Wrex moved in front of the rear wall, leveling his assault rifle at it. "Ready?"

Lakota drew her pistol and then nodded her head. "Ready."

Wrex fired a continuous string of short bursts. The bullets riddled the rear wall forming a pattern – an outline of an arch. As the inferno ammo lodged into the alloy steel wall, they secreted a toxic chemical which burned through the material like a heated knife slicing through butter. After the pattern was complete, Lakota waited a few seconds, and then proceeded with a front kick – the heel of her armored boot landing solidly in the middle of the outline knocking it onto the ground outside.

They quickly scanned the outer area and then dropped behind the cover of a generator that was feeding power to the building. The Spectre promptly holstered her pistol and unveiled her sniper rifle, _Styx_. Nobody had been stationed on the perimeter of the building, but Lakota knew their pursuers would come around looking for them. She didn't know how many were after them nor from which direction they would approach, but she wanted to find out. She wanted to know who was trying to kill them, but she also knew she needed to wait, be patient. It takes a lot of discipline to be patient when you know someone is hunting you.

The main ingredients to being a good sniper are discipline, cleverness and patience. Being a good shot was important, but without the other ingredients a sniper would be subpar. Lakota Shepard was gifted with all of those qualities and a few more. She was a keen observer who paid attention to details and stayed aware of her surroundings and everything that was going on around her. She was particularly clever and had been trained to deceive the enemy as to her position. She was an expert at making the enemy think she was somewhere where she was not. She used these skills to briskly pick out the best placement to set up with her sniper rifle – the spot that offered line of sight around either side of the building and provided her with the most cover. That ideal placement was located behind two small mounds of piled up metal wreckage and debris, in a direction away from the expandable building and five meters from the generator that Wrex was using for cover. Lakota settled into place- hidden from view- with _Styx_ in position to strike, and waited.

Las Catacumbas as a whole was in turmoil. Those who had heard the gunfire were screaming and running away from the sectional building containing the sand lab. Those who had not heard the shots were panicking because of the frenzied confusion of the crowds attempting to escape the area. People were scrambling in their stalls trying to either hide or rapidly pack up their belongings. The sporadic gunshots had echoed through the compound making it difficult for some to pinpoint the origination, leaving the marketplace in utter chaos as individuals ran in all directions in a frantic attempt to flee an unknown monster.

It didn't take long for the enemy to reveal themselves though. Lakota saw movement at both the right and left corners of the building- shadowy images and the tips of assault rifles. The enemy had split up in the hopes of flanking them from both sides. Because of the generator's angle, she knew Wrex would only be able to see the figures edging out from the right corner, so she focused on the left. When it came to warfare, the krogan and human moved together in picture perfect harmony- effortlessly, as though able to read each other's mind and predict what the other would do next. In short, she trusted Wrex's observational abilities, his tactical skills and the fact that he had her back.

Lakota brought her shadowy target into the crosshairs of _Styx's_ the scope. When he edged around the corner for a quick view of the terrain, she recognized him immediately - the man who'd let them into Las Catacumbas, the one who'd taken comm traffic. She watched as he yelled out, "You can't hide from us, Spectre. We have you surrounded." The formless voice now had form.

"He looked bigger when I couldn't see him," mumbled the Spectre to no one.

She continued to observe as the man slipped partially behind the corner and gave hand signals to the men around him. He didn't know where the Spectre was, so he didn't know he wasn't fully hidden from her line of sight. The moment he stepped from around the corner and into full view, Lakota fired _Styx_ - perfect headshot. The man fell to the ground as though a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Immediately gunfire erupted and men's voices sounded out. They were all yelling. Lakota saw the other three armored men from the entrance with another eight, equally armored individuals; they were firing their assault rifles randomly in the vicinity of her position. She lined up another enemy – a woman- and fired. She went down quickly which increased her comrades haphazard shooting and panicked dialogue.

"Where the fuck is she?"

"Where's the krogan?"

"FUCK! She got Gino and Del."

"The boss never said nothing about her being a sniper!"

"The boss don't have to tell you SHIT!"

"The both of you idiots better fucking shut up and fucking fan out before the boss comes down here and kills you herself!"

Lakota knew it was time to move. She'd heard enough and if she and Wrex were stationary any longer, they would be outflanked and in the kill zone of too many rifles. At her hand signal, the krogan began laying down a suppressing fire, blanketing the area with inferno rounds from his assault rifle. She settled into a low crouch, scooting to the end of her debris shield and then dove headlong toward the safety of the generator.

The Spectre rolled onto her feet, crouching but alert behind the generator with _Styx_ in both hands. "If you can't dazzle them with brilliance; riddle them with bullets, eh Wrex?"

The krogan kept his focus on shooting. "Saves time on wasted conversation."

Cautiously, Lakota peered around the corner of the generator, opposite of Wrex, aimed at the debris the enemy was using for cover and fired a shot. She wasn't attempting to hit anyone, just make enough noise to make them stay down.

Except for the group firing on them, the area around the sand lab was deserted. The marketplace crowds had disappeared as the uninterrupted gunfire persisted.

"You ready to get out of this place, Wrex?" asked Lakota.

"Chaos, panic, disorder… our work here is done, Shepard."

The Spectre activated her omni-tool and pressed a few keys. Instantaneously, four flash bombs detonated at the corners of the expandable structure. They were near enough for the enemy to be disoriented by the loud blasts and bright flash of lights. Three seconds later two more explosions rang out. These were from custom designed sticky bombs Lakota had adhered to the building's load bearing struts. They were fashioned to produce small, contained blasts and were placed to collapse the building – which they did.

In the bedlam of explosions, gunfire, screaming, dust and smoke, Lakota and Wrex hustled toward the outer perimeter. They stayed low, under cover, looking for signs of movement. They began to make their way back toward the entrance of Las Catacumbas. They could have tried to wander past the perimeter and chance their way in the dark, but there was no guarantee they would find another exit out of the black depths of the Citadel's sub-tunnels. So they headed to the one place they knew would lead them to the surface. They hastily journeyed through the marketplace, continuing to negotiate over debris and rows lined with abandoned stalls, until they entered upon a large open area that led to the exit corridor.

In one motion Lakota held up her left hand then crouched down behind an empty stall, bringing the threshold of the exit in sight with her sniper scope. Four men armed with assault rifles were scrutinizing the area around entrance. One of the men had a pot belly and thin moustache. "Well," Lakota murmured, "aren't you a waste of two billion years of evolution."

The Spectre turned her head slightly, catching Wrex in her periphery. "It's the counterman from the store," she said. "He must work for whoever sent those thugs after us."

"After you," corrected the krogan. "He's a point man."

Lakota gave a slight nod while continuing to look through the scope. "And they covered the way out in case the ambush failed."

"Thorough bastards," said Wrex. "I told you people would kill you for free."

"Who says they're doing it for free?"

"Free or not, the others will be heading this way fast," said Wrex.

"I can take out two or three, but the minute I start shooting the rest will be on top of us." Lakota was quiet for a moment. "A diversion would be better."

Wrex grinned. "We are good at causing diversions."

"I can take that power cable out," said Lakota. "Kill the lighting."

"But before you do, I will circle around the side. When things go dark, I will move them out of the way." To Lakota's eye, the expression on his face looked almost gleeful.

With his assault rifle leading the way, Wrex headed off into the shadows. When he wanted the Battlemaster could move quickly and quietly and stay hidden in a landscape that wasn't krogan-shape friendly. Lakota knew that was one of the reasons why the krogan mercenary was so deadly.

Once he was in place, Lakota locked onto the power cable feeding the perimeter lights with her sniper scope and pulled the trigger. The shot nailed its target and the area fell into darkness as most of the ambient light in Las Catacumbas disappeared. The only illumination the Spectre saw came from the corridor leading to the surface– she assumed it was fed from the electronics store. The panicked men, who were standing in front of the entrance with the only light in the area spotlighting their position, were now sitting ducks.

The very moment the light disappeared, Lakota saw the familiar bluish arc of biotic tendrils ignite to left of the armored men and push out like a tidal wave – sending all four humans soaring into the dark.

Her sniper rifle holstered, Lakota took off running toward the corridor, sprinting as fast as she could. Wrex's shape came into view his shotgun firing in the direction the men had flown. She passed by the krogan and then stopped just inside the entrance. Still firing his shotgun, Wrex backed through the open door and then Lakota closed it. She grinned at the krogan and then they both ran down the corridor and up the stairs into the electronic shop. They waited silently, pistol and shotgun drawn, at the top of the stairs listening for any noise.

After a few moments, Lakota said, "I don't hear any hot pursuit."

"They probably didn't chase us."

"Because?"

Wrex grinned. "They were afraid they might catch us."

With the guns still drawn they made their way through the shop and onto the streets of the Bachjret Ward. The artificial environment now mimic early morning as people walked briskly toward their intended destination. To be less conspicuous, the krogan and human holstered their weapons and set off to find a cab to take them back to the docking bay.

"Finch was tight lipped," said Wrex.

While they walked, Lakota thought back upon the scene with her former comrade. "He was scared of something, but it wasn't me."

"What could be scarier than you?"

The Spectre raised her hand to her mouth, covering a yawn. "You."

"True."

Lakota slowed her pace momentarily as she studied the area around them once again. This time the elusively familiar layout didn't take her by surprise, instead it made her contemplative. Mexico City, the Reds, Tomas Finch, Cerberus, an asari corporation, Red Sand… her mind swirled with unanswerable questions which presented themselves as small landmines of frustration. She breathed in deeply and focused on what she did know. It felt good to be above ground. It felt good to be in the light. And even the processed air in the Ward was refreshing.

When they reached the Avina terminal, Wrex asked, "What's next?"

Lakota punched in her Spectre ID number, their destination and then stepped back to wait for the cab. "I want to talk to Lysandra again. She knows more than she is saying. But before that happens, I want to get the product we found in the sand lab analyzed."

"What about Finch?"

The Spectre narrowed her eyes- a dangerous glint sparkling in their green depths. "I want to find the bastard. I don't like loose ends."

As the cab pulled up, Wrex said, "Loose ends have a way of strangling you."

**Next up: El Pasado, Primera Parte**


	7. El Pasado Primera Parte

**Author's Note:**

I want to take a brief moment to thank all of you who are following this tale. And for those who have fav'd, alerted and reviewed- Muchas Gracias! Your feedback and commentary are most welcome!

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: El Pasado, Primera Parte<strong>

_The crevice was musty and dark. The little girl could hear the other children running, attempting to flee and find their own hiding place. The enemy was rummaging through the building- laughing and calling out to the younger children- trying to find someone to harass. This wasn't an unusual occurrence. The enemy had prowled here many times before._

_The little girl had heard the enemy before anyone one else and had rushed, unseen, to her cramped safe haven – a small space between the struts of the outer wall. The alcove's ceiling sloped with the pitch of the roof making it impossible to stand, so the little girl huddled up – knees to chest – arms wrapped around her legs, breathing as quietly as she could. The only source of light came from the crack between the loose boards in the paneling, the one which the little girl moved to gain access. Her home- if you could call it that- was a broken down and dirty old building- a dilapidated place with creaking wood floors, chipped paint and rusting water pipes. _

_Two young orphans - a blond and a redheaded boy- found their way into the little girl's room, but they didn't know about her hiding spot. Nor did they have time to hide, because the enemy – two teenage boys, quickly came upon them. The older boys heckled and badgered the younger ones, pushing them roughly to the ground while screaming obscenities. And then the beating began._

_Through the crack in the wall, the scene played out before the little girl and she forced her eyes closed. "__Por favor dios, hazme piedra," she silently prayed. [__Please god, make me a stone.]_

_The beating continued. Each thud of a foot or strike of a fist on flesh fed the little girl's fear. Every outcry of pain wore on the little girl's nerves. The incessant contempt and belittlement sparked the little girl's anger. A chill ran along her spine, but she was unsure if it was from the cool dampness of the dingy air or the sounds coming from the interior of the room. _

_The little girl prayed for it to end. She prayed to be transported away. She prayed until she couldn't pray anymore. Then she had to act. She had to stop the noise. The little girl lost herself in her fear, her adrenaline and her fury. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the pipe at her side and quietly as a mouse, she moved the paneling and snuck up behind the enemy. _

_The older boys didn't notice her behind them- they were too focused on the whimpering prey before them. Swiftly the little girl swung the pipe on the back of one enemy's knee. When he lost his balance and his knee hit the ground her righteous frenzy manifested in a savage attack upon his head as the pipe connected – once, twice, three times. Each strike landed with a leaded thud until he collapsed face first on the floor with a groan. The standing enemy figure turned to her in time to be jabbed in the crotch with the blunt end of the pipe. The older boy fell on his knees, nausea overwhelming his senses as the little girl swung the pipe in a vicious arc that ended when metal connected with jaw and the sound of bone breaking and flesh splitting screamed out. The little girl swung the pipe repeatedly- blind fury feeding her strength, until the enemy crumpled to the ground. _

_The noise finally stopped. The enemy lay unmoving on the ground. The two young, orphan boys with bruised and quickly swelling faces looked to their savior – the little girl who was breathing heavily with a bloodied pipe still clenched in her fist. _

_Through sniffles and tears the redheaded boy whispered, "Gracias." [Thank you.]_

_The little girl with long, raven black hair and large, pale green eyes stared back apathetically. "__Hubieras corrido mas rapido."__ [You should have run faster.]_

**########################**

Franz Schubert's _Symphony No. 8 in B minor,_ more commonly known as the "Unfinished Symphony" played softly in the background, while Lakota sat at her desk holding a glass of cognac in her hands – her pale, green eyes seemingly spellbound by the fragrant mahogany liquid. All artificial lighting had been turned off allowing the luminance from two candles to bathe the room in flickering tenebrous highlights – the low luminance of the room adequately reflecting the commander's somber mood. Lost in the music and past reminiscence, Lakota didn't hear the subtle swoosh of the cabin doors open or the soft padding of feet slowly crossing the length of the room. Because of this, she was surprised when someone behind her cleared their throat.

"Doctor," said Lakota. She simultaneously lowered the music's volume and spun her black leather desk chair around to greet the new arrival.

"Commander." Liara eyed the seated woman thoughtfully as she continued her journey toward the desk. "Have I come at a bad time?"

Lakota wore a comfortable pair of grey cotton sweatpants and a short-sleeved, white cotton t-shirt. She wore no shoes, but her feet were adorned with white crew-cut socks. "Not at all. I was just… lost in thought."

"About?"

Lakota sighed wistfully. "The first time I met Tomas Finch."

A single lock of black hair hung to the side of Lakota's right cheek outlining her face. In an act of familiar intimacy, Liara- who was now standing in front of the Spectre, reached out her left hand and gently tucked it behind her lover's ear. As she pulled her hand back, Liara's fingertips brushed upon the cheek leaving a lingering tingling impression – an indirect, loving caress. "Oh?"

"I was a young girl. Five or six years old."

"It is hard to imagine you as a young girl, Commander." Liara placed both of her hands on the arms of the chair, bracing her weight as her legs carefully straddled Lakota's, and then she sat in the commander's lap bringing them face to face. The asari wore a simple scoop necked shirt that had short sleeves and a taupe hue. Its bottom hem hung just below the waist line of her black pants, which had a slightly loose shape, but seemed to hug each curve of her hips and thighs perfectly.

In turn, the Spectre wrapped her right hand around her lover's waist, her left still holding the glass of cognac. "_This _from a woman who is one-hundred and six."

"Soon to be one-hundred and seven."

"You're still angling for a good birthday present, aren't you?"

"Good ideas are not adopted automatically, Commander," said Liara. "They must be driven into memory with great patience."

Lakota chuckled. "And you have both perseverance and longevity on your side."

Smirking, the asari quipped, "Yes, I do."

On the desk, next to the bottle of cognac, was a second snifter glass. It had a very short stem with a large-sized bell that curved out wide for the first third of the bell before curving in at the top. Liara knew the snifter glass was also called a brandy balloon glass or a brandy snifter. Lakota had mentioned that the balloon glass gave brandy or cognac a large surface area to release its bouquet while the narrowed opening concentrated the scent for the nose. The shape of the glass was said to directly affect the enjoyment of the drink.

A soft smile formed at the corner of Lakota's lips, but her eyes still held a far-off look as though her thoughts were caught between two worlds. Raising her eyebrow, Liara questioned, "Are you going to tell me what is bothering you? Or should I just start asking questions?"

"What makes you think something is bothering me?"

"Commander, you are dealing with an asari researcher. I can formulate and deduce behavioral patterns with the best of them."

"Cognac gave me away, eh?"

"And your choice of music." The symphony's dulcet tones were still permeating within the backdrop of the cabin.

"But not the dimly lit room?"

"No. The candles are more indicative of foreplay."

"Now we're talking!"

"Commander," said Liara. The tone of her voice was a definitive statement ending the flirtatious sidebar and getting the conversation back onto its original vein.

Lakota sighed heavily and then told Liara about Las Catacumbas. She elaborated on the red sand lab, the oddities that were found on and in the packing crates, about the ambush, about Finch escaping and the presence of Cerberus. Liara didn't do anything but listen. She didn't pour herself a glass of cognac or tap her fingers or smile or frown or move. Not many listened with such focused intensity- it was one of the asari's traits that Lakota appreciated most.

When Lakota finished, Liara remained quiet for moment as though collecting her thoughts. Then she said, "Lysandra sent you into a trap."

"Yes."

"But you do not know if it was deliberate."

"Bingo."

"And you are wondering how Chellick's abduction, Mario Torres' murder, Finch's return, an asari corporation, the Reds and Cerberus all fit together."

"Yes."

"What did you do with the materials and substance you found in the lab?" asked Liara.

"I gave some of it to Dr. Chakwas and asked her to analyze it. Quietly. She said she'd need a few days. I also asked Garrus to check with his contacts at C-Sec. See if he could track down the shipping manifests of those crates."

"You said you 'gave some of it'… what did you do with the rest?"

"I locked it away for safekeeping. Just in case."

Liara's brows furrowed momentarily and then her lips parted, but just as quickly closed.

Lakota's mouth curled into a subtle smile. "Now it appears something is on your mind, Doctor."

"I want to ask you a question, Shepard, but I find I am hesitant to do so."

"Why?"

"It may upset you."

Lakota's green eyes flickered in affectionate amusement. "You can ask me anything, Liara. If I'm not comfortable with the question, I'll tell you."

Nodding her head, Liara said, "Have you ever taken Red Sand?"

Lakota looked at her lover. She didn't say anything immediately, but her throat moved as she swallowed. "No." Her voice was quiet and clear, but flat.

Already wading into a contested area, Liara forged ahead. "Why not? As a Red, surely it was available to you."

"Oh, it was," said Lakota. "But knowing your mother was a sand-blasted addict makes you wary of it… Knowing she sold you to get her next high makes you despise it…" The Spectre turned her gaze to the amber liquid in her hand, her thoughts momentarily getting lost in the past. "…and despise her."

Taking a deep breath, Lakota turned her head so green eyes could delve into deep blue. "But to answer your question, Red Sand was everywhere in Mexico City and a lot of kids dusted up. It never appealed to me though. I didn't like what I saw. The euphoria. The manic energy. It all came with a price. And when they were sand-blasted, they were out of control."

"And you don't like being out of control," said Liara.

"No. I don't. Especially not like that."

Liara raised her right hand to the snifter glass her lover held and then lightly brushed a finger down its length. "What about alcohol? Although a depressant, it too can cause euphoria and impaired judgment."

"I don't like it either," said the Spectre.

Tilting her head, Liara asked her next question by tapping her finger on the glass of cognac.

"I enjoy drinking," admitted Lakota, "but not too excess."

"And you know alcohol does not solve any problems," said Liara.

The Spectre smiled ruefully then teased, "Neither does milk."

As the lover's looked upon each other a serene moment settled in around them much like a delicate caress. The background music in the cabin had blended into melodious tones of _Bach's Cello Suite 1 IV. Sarabande_ and filled the silence with its slow moving cadence and intimate sounds that seemed fashioned to lull the senses and soothe the soul. The asari and human breathed into their shared existence, enjoying each other's presence as much as the peace their togetherness brought.

"I've been drunk a few times," said Lakota, a chagrined look flashing across her face. "It was fun in the moment, but the next day wasn't so much fun. The hangover or the things that happened didn't bother me as much as waking up and having the sense that I hadn't been in control of myself the night before."

Lakota pursed her lips and then sighed heavily as memories from her time with the Reds flashed through her mind. "That feeling really doesn't work for me. Not being in control gets you killed. Or gets your friends killed."

"Finch apparently likes it though," said Liara. "You mentioned that he has been a Sand addict for a long period of time."

Lakota nodded. "He was like that before I left Mexico. Everyone had their different coping mechanisms. His escape was the Sand. It was a much more pleasant reality than the one he had to live in."

"And a form of denial."

"Much like alcohol."

"Perhaps," said Liara. "Some people drink because they like it and _then_ get addicted and drink because they must."

Smiling, Lakota said, "I'm still in the 'like' part."

"You will not get addicted."

The Spectre narrowed her eyes questioningly. "Why not?"

"You will not." Liara's statement sounded definitive, like law of nature that could not be broken.

"Doesn't addiction mean you are beyond controlling it?" questioned Lakota.

"Which is why you would never have one."

"Because I am addicted to self-control?"

"Or not being controlled," said Liara. "You are too autonomous to let something control you… or someone."

Lakota was quiet for a moment before she verbalized her own statement of fact. "There's not much I can think of that I wouldn't do if you asked."

Still sitting motionless upon the Commander's lap, Liara tilted her head- a gentle smile playing on her lips as she carefully scrutinized her lover. Finally, her right hand dropped to the arm of the chair and she reached out with her left, once again brushing her fingers across Lakota cheek- a tender, compassionate caress. "You never talk about Mexico… about your past."

Lakota's cheek leaned into her lover's touch, so instead of just fingertips, the palm of the hand cupped her cheek. "I'm interested in what is happening now. In what will happen tomorrow."

"But what is going to happen tomorrow grows out of what happened yesterday," said Liara.

"Maybe," said Lakota with a shrug, "but I can't control what happened yesterday."

"But you can change what yesterday did to you."

"Yes," said Lakota. "I suppose you can."

Liara's left hand moved slightly so her palm still brushed upon the cheek but her fingers now stroked her lover's neck. Beneath her fingertips she could feel the strong, steady drumbeat of Lakota's pulse. Then she raised her right hand to the other side of Lakota's face, tilted it up and kissed her gently on the mouth. The moist velvety feel of their joined lips was both comforting and mesmerizing.

Eventually, the kiss ended and Liara sat back, an adoring look upon her face. "What is your next step, Commander?"

Grateful and a bit relieved by her lover's change of subject matter, Lakota smiled warmly. She didn't like to talk about her past but when she did, the topic wore on her quickly. The fact that Liara recognized this detail made her all the more endearing to Lakota.

"All of the maintenance badges we found allow access to Annex B of the Embassy," said the Spectre. "Coincidently, tomorrow night is the banquet for Anderson's acceptance into the Council…"

"…Which will be held in Annex B," finished Liara.

"Exactly," said Lakota. "It's not an official induction, but a lot of officials will be there. I want to go, and luckily, as the first human Spectre I was invited. So I will attend and ask some questions. See if I can find out why a sewer rat needed access to a high society event."

Lakota took a slow, deliberate sip of her cognac, savoring the drink upon her tongue before swallowing. "By the way, Doctor, do you have plans tomorrow night?"

"Oh? You aren't taking Wrex?"

"He's not the 'black tie event' type." Smiling mirthfully, Lakota said, "Plus, you're less likely to kill someone."

"If that is my only restriction, then I agree." Liara's left hand reached out again and her fingertips touched lightly upon her lover's neck, tracing a path down to the crook of her shoulder. From there the inquisitive fingertips salaciously made their way across the fabric covering the top of the shoulder, past the shirt's sleeve and made contact with the warm, soft flesh of the commander's arm. They continued their provocative journey down the well-toned bicep and slowly brushed across the sensitive flesh of the forearm, leaving a trail of raised hairs and goose bumps in their wake.

"Excellent. You'll be my plus one then." The tiny ministrations caressing her skin sent pleasant shivers down Lakota's spine.

Liara's fingertips continued to travel upon her lover's arm and the asari's eyes watched their progress intently as they retraced their path up to the strong bicep and then back down again. Each stroke of her fingertips seemed to increase the number of goose bumps appearing on the commander's flesh. Absentmindedly, Liara asked, "What is Wrex doing this evening?"

"I don't know."

The fingertips abruptly stopped their sensual journey. "Amazing," Liara said, shaking her head.

"What?"

"He has risked his life for you and you for him." Liara's concentrated gaze shifted from her fingertips to the questioning, pale green eyes before her. "And he is planning to risk it again to help you get to the bottom of this mess."

"Skillfully," added Lakota.

"And you do not ask him what his evening plans are or if he is spending it with anyone."

Lakota held her lover's fixed stare, delving into the intense blue eyes, deep and dark as the ocean's depths. The commander found it difficult to explain a relationship that she'd never put much energy or thought into deciphering, so she remained quiet as her thoughts gathered themselves.

"I was standing in the docking bay with Wrex the other day, watching the repair crews on the outer hull," said Lakota. "He remarked that life in C-Sec had no connection with how people live anywhere else."

"He is probably right."

"He's nearly always right," said Lakota. "Not because he knows everything, but because he never talks about things he doesn't know."

"Not a bad idea."

"No," said Shepard. "Quite a good one. I wish the Council used as much discretion."

"What does this have to do with not knowing his plans this evening?"

"I digressed," said the Spectre. "And it misled you. Go back to the thing about C-Sec."

While she thought about the commander's words, Liara poured herself a glass of cognac. She filled the snifter a quarter full of the mahogany liquid and then set the bottle back on the desk. She reached over with her left hand picking up the snifter glass, but didn't drink. Instead she allowed the heat of her hand to warm up the glass – a step that was essential to releasing the full aroma of the cognac.

"Analogy," Liara said. "Wrex's world is not like anyone else's."

Lakota nodded.

"So asking Wrex about his plans tonight is like asking a quarian how human food tastes."

Lakota nodded again.

Liara gently rotated her glass, swirling the liquid within it. She then brought the glass to her nose and breathed in deeply catching the subtly scents of cinnamon, honey and a bit of something floral. "Do you understand him?"

"Up to a point."

"And then?" The asari sipped the dark liquid letting it coat her tongue in a velvety smooth blanket, savoring the nuances of the drink's sophisticated flavor. The balanced and intricate liquid released its bouquet of aromas slowly in her mouth while simultaneously revealing its extraordinary fine texture and consistency. The floral hints gained complexity while blending with aromas eliciting vanilla and grilled almond before finally evolving into the delicate notes of spice and honey. As the drink slipped past her tongue, it left the semi-sweet flavor of cherries in its wake and a deliberating long aftertaste to enjoy.

"Wrex is krogan," said Lakota. "His people have been suffering the effects of the genophage for decades. He's been outnumbered his whole life. I don't know, and probably can't know, quite what that's like."

"Or what it took for him to become Urdnot Wrex, krogan battlemaster."

"And to keep being Urdnot Wrex, krogan battlemaster." Lakota chuckled softly, as if amused by a private joke. "He didn't choose a Wrex that is easy to maintain."

"But if he does not maintain," surmised Liara, "then he will disappear."

"He'd laugh at you for saying that."

"Yes," said Liara. "But it does not mean it is not true."

"Besides," Lakota said with a smirk, "you're a young – relatively speaking – beautiful asari scientist who chooses to spend her time researching ancient, dusty Prothean ruins on remote planets in the far reaches of space."

While she looked at the Spectre thoughtfully, Liara returned the snifter glass to her lips and took a shallow sip, letting the smooth flavorful liquid swirl around her tongue. She didn't say anything until she had swallowed the potent drink. "So I am used to being laughed at," concluded the asari.

In playful affirmation, Lakota doned her most bewitching smile and then her right hand, which had been resting on her Liara's waist, slipped beneath the hem of her shirt. Finding the bare treasure beneath the fabric, the Spectre's fingers began tracing nondescript patterns upon the sensitive flesh of her lover's lower back.

Liara breathed in sharply through her nose when she felt Lakota's fingertips brush across one of her most sensually receptive spots, and then she smiled flirtatiously. "May I remind you, Commander, that of late, I am spending most of my time… researching you."

"And I am very grateful for your due diligence, Doctor."

Lakota leaned in and tentatively grazed her lips upon Liara's, basking in the soft, enthralling feel of the familiar tender flesh. Pulled by the siren call of her longing, Liara's right hand snaked around her lover's head, drawing them both further into the seductive, soul-tempting kiss. Their heated lips parted and inquisitive tongues met in an unhurried, but provocative dance of blissful entanglement- lulling their senses into a languid, melodious flow. The spicy sweet flavor of cognac lingered drowsily within their sensual exchange, lacing the caress with haunting tendrils of aromatic bliss. Keeping a deliberate, achingly slow pace, the two lovers delighted in the intoxicating feel and taste of each other and the slow rise of arousal that sparked the moment their lips met.

"Doctor," Lakota murmured, her lips still brushing upon Liara's in a feather-like caress, "I'd very much like it if we neglected the cognac and concluded this conversation on the bed."

"As you wish, Commander."

**Next Chapter: The Respite**


	8. The Respite

**Chapter 8: The Respite**

For Lakota, the Alliance's private gym on the Citadel was better than working out in the corner of the _Normandy's_ cargo bay, except Garrus wasn't there to spar. It had a full nautilus setup, two complete sets of free weights, a bench press, some parallel bars, set of rings, balance beam, pommel horse, four treadmills, an elliptical machine, two stair climbers, two stationary bikes, jump ropes, a heavy bag, and a speed bag. There was a lap pool off the gymnasium and a sauna, a whirlpool, showers and massage setup in between the rooms. The floor was done in some type of resilient rubber padding with a twelve by twelve meter spring floor section in the middle. The ceiling of the gym was high and walls were mirrored. Bright fluorescent lights gave the illusion of permanent daylight in each room.

It was early morning, so Lakota took extra time stretching each and every muscle of her body. When she finished she walked over to the spring floor and began a slow tumbling routine. Two forward somersaults led into a forward handstand which she held for a five second count and then tucked into another forward somersault. She kept her pace slow and methodical as though trying to hold each pose to its maximum stretching potential. She reached the corner of the floor's outline, but instead of turning around she lifted one leg and arched backward, bringing the other leg over the body into another handstand. She held the pose for a count of five then dipped down, touching her nose to the mat and began a set of thirty free-standing handstand pushups. By using her core muscles and hand muscles she kept her body balanced- from falling over back, forward, or to either side, while maintaining her rigid posture.

Even as a child, Lakota had excellent hand-eye coordination, strength and agility. Those traits had been recognized and nurtured soon after joining the Tenth Street Reds by the Den Mother who had handpicked her for specialized training. As the handstand pushups continued, Lakota thought back upon those early years in the Reds- the wisdom of time bringing insight and clarity to a period which was filled with deception.

In the beginning of her life with the Reds, Lakota was schooled in gymnastics and martial arts. Discipline, concentration and confidence were the primary focus of her developmental skill set. When her aptitude for math and science emerged, the Den Mother- who rewarded intelligence- ushered Lakota into an education which revolved around the various engineering branches – physics, mathematics, chemistry, electronics and mechanical systems. Those hand-picked disciples who excelled in their scientific studies were encouraged by the Den Mother to seek out other creative influences, as well. Lakota had chosen music to balance out her cultural learning, specifically learning how to play the cello. The concentration, discipline, creativity and focused passion required to play the instrument had been valuable outlets during her adolescence and youth. Although she hadn't played since joining the Alliance, Lakota had always felt that playing music allowed her to touch upon the four bodies that make a person whole – the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual realms.

As the pushups continued, Lakota saw with great lucidity the ways in which she had been cultivated and seduced by the Den Mother to become an ultimate warrior for her branch of the Reds.

The Den Mother had been beautiful, poised, and mesmerizing- a magnetic personality. She demanded allegiance from all those she nurtured, but not to the Tenth Street Reds as an organization. The Reds had just been a convenient label which induced fear in the general public. Instead, the Den Mother had demanded loyalty to her own dominion. With a larger than life persona, she controlled her orphaned wards by manipulating their emotional needs and subjugating them with the promises of family and belonging. All had loved her and wanted to be in her spotlight, but there was a price to be paid if you fell into shadow. Those who were favored saw her as generous and magnanimous, but those who displeased her saw a savagery that rivaled a rabid varren. At sixteen years of age, Lakota had come face to face with that viciousness and had almost succumbed to its brutal gaze. Instead though, the future Spectre ended the Den Mother's life and then with a forged birth certificate sought refuge within the Alliance military.

Sweat shimmered upon her skin as Lakota finished the last pushup and rolled into a forward somersault. Her thoughts of the Den Mother sent a shiver of outrage down her spine which she channeled into three consecutive back handsprings. On the third handspring she twisted 180 degrees in the air and landed on both feet, her momentum carrying her into a leaping forward somersault. When she came to a rest she turned to face toward the middle of the mat and began another tumbling combination – two cartwheels, a back flip to back handspring and finally rolling into two backward somersaults, popping to her feet at the end.

She strolled nimbly over toward the heavy bag, grabbed some red training gloves and then launched an all-out karate attack. She funneled her irritation by spinning in mid-air to kick the bag and then whirled gracefully, and with a precise ballet-like fluidity, to drive home an elbow which led into another kick. Her movements were sometimes too quick to follow and the heavy bag pitched and shivered as she hit it, kicked it, slashed it and butted it- all at what appeared to be the speed of sound. The red gloves she wore were no more than a red blur as she repeatedly hit the bag with a rhythmic cadence. For the coup de grace she leapt into the air, scissor-kicked the bag with both feet and went into a backward somersault as she landed on her back, rolling to her feet in one continuous motion.

She was breathing hard and her toned, lissome body was glistening with sweat as she stared at the heavy bag swinging aimlessly. She pushed the thoughts of the Den Mother and the Reds out of her mind and moved back to the heavy bag to work on her punches.

She had learned to box shortly after she joined the Alliance. Tug, a member of her squad, had taken her under his wing and showed her the basics of the sport. As she hit some combination cycles, she thought of him- tall, strong, like an ebony steel beam with an amiable smile and piercing blue eyes. They had been close, had shared a bed a few times, but it had been momentary companionship for both and nothing more. He died on Akuze- a casualty of a thresher maw attack, a victim of a Cerberus experiment. The more she thought of the rogue black-ops group, the harder her punches hit. The muscles in her upper body coiled and uncoiled in her sweat-shiny skin as she hooked the heavy bag- three left hooks, one right and then repeated the pattern in an unending loop. The bag bounced and swayed on the heavy chains. The shock of the punches went up her forearms. That had been one of the first surprises when she had first started to box- punches hurt the wrists and forearms. Until she had built them up she had been not only arm weary, but arm sore.

As she was beating the hell out of her simulated opponent, she caught her reflection in the mirrors. She felt sort of silly, but the imagined pummeling of Cerberus still felt good. She spent another forty-five minutes channeling her frustration to exhaustion and her body to the point of fatigue.

When she was finished and the hot water was sluicing over her weary muscles in the shower room, a thought came unbidden to her weary mind.

_"How did Chellick find Finch?"_

**########################**

Lakota headed over to the medical ward of C-Sec as soon as she had finished cleaning up at the gym. The facility was like most state of the art hospitals that she had seen- sterile looking with an unmistakable yet untraceable odor of antiseptic floating through the air. She was wearing her Mercenary X armor which had been cleaned since returning from Las Catacumbas allowing for its deep burgundy hue to glow under the fluorescent lighting of the long corridors. Her raven-black hair was pulled into its trademark pony-tail and her make-up was expertly done, giving her a professional, no-nonsense appearance. Black eye-liner and brown eye-shadow made her pale green irises luminescent against her honey-toned skin while the dark red lipstick added a subtle, but attractive severity.

Using her Spectre status she gained access to Chellick's private room and entered after signing in. He was unfazed by Lakota's arrival, as though he had expected to see her.

"Palin would really like to string your ass up," said the C-Sec officer. He was sitting in his med-bed holding the data pad he had been reading.

Lakota shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "Why should he be any different?"

The room had no window, but along with the med-bed there was a small sofa on an outer wall with a small table placed in front of it. Next to the bed were a large reclining chair and a tall table that could swing over the med-bed when it was time to eat. On the wall hung a flat screen video monitor which had been muted, but was showing some turian news cast. Even with the extra furniture, the Commander noted that the room had more open space than her quarters on the _Normandy_.

"He told me not to cooperate if you came around. Said C-Sec didn't need you."

"It's alarming how many people think that." Instead of sitting in the reclining chair, Lakota opted to lean against it.

"It's not good for C-Sec's image," said Chellick. "A Spectre's involvement is bad for business."

"So why you willing to help me out?"

"This isn't C-Sec business." The turian smiled. "But Palin would really like to go toe to toe with you."

"Yeah," said Lakota, "that's a good plan. We'll beat the hell out of each other and when Finch dashes in to break it up, we'll arrest him."

Chellick chuckled. "Don't make me laugh, it hurts too much."

Lakota took a long look at the turian in front of her. He looked much better than when she'd found him shackled to the chair in the dingy apartment. Most of the minor abrasions had already healed and he appeared to have full mobility of his arms and upper body. For a turian though, he looked tired. "How long 'til you get out of here?"

"Couple of more days. Humans didn't know turian physiology well enough to do any permanent damage."

"In this case," said Lakota, "it's good that human stupidity knows no bounds."

Chellick smile slightly. "You're human."

"Yes, but I am beautiful and clever, gives me an edge."

"Convenient."

"And I have a gun," said Lakota.

"Dangerously convenient."

The Spectre furrowed her eyes before asking the burning question in her mind. "How _did _you find Finch?"

"An anonymous tip," said Chellick. "Images of four humans were sent to me with a note attached. The note said a certain human Spectre may be interested."

"Good thing there's only one of us. Might get confusing otherwise."

"I did some checking though." Chellick paused before saying any more. Lakota sensed he had something else to tell her, but was holding back momentarily for dramatic effect. For her, the giveaway was in the turian's eyes. They looked impish and devious. Being a patient person, she waited for him to continue.

After a few heartbeats, Chellick said, "Not many know C-Sec upgraded its security network, specifically the tagger programs which allow us to trace incoming and outgoing messages."

Lakota nodded her head in approval. "Handy tool to have."

"I was able to track who sent the message."

"And of course, the details are official C-Sec business," said Lakota.

"Of course."

"So when I ask you who sent them…"

"Then I won't tell you it was Donnel Udina."

**########################**

Wrex and Lakota were back in the Bachjret Ward sitting at a corner table in the busy confines of the Interstellar Café. The establishment was human run, but well-known because it catered to all Citadel species and professed the freshest ingredients. In particular, Lakota liked the place because all of their vegetables were as close to organic as they could get on the space station – hydroponically grown. The married couple who ran it were in their fifties and showcased their produce through large picture windows that separated the restaurant from the indoor garden. Seeing the vibrantly green and growing plants added to the relaxed ambiance of the space, plus the café served fantastic, Earth-authentic, club sandwiches.

It was mid-afternoon on the Citadel, and the establishment was active with a colorful variety of hungry patrons. The place was comfortably full, but not noisy and with no sense of a crowd. Lakota was enjoying her club sandwich and Regalian ale while Wrex opted for a liquid lunch – ryncol. The green liquid, a krogan concoction, was known to hit other species like ground glass, but the Battlemaster drank it like humans drink water.

"Why did Udina give those images to Chellick?" Wrex asked. His tankard of ryncol was almost empty, but luckily he had ordered two and the second mug was still untouched on the table.

Lakota was quiet for a moment as she spun her pint around with her left hand. The dark beverage was reminiscent both in color and taste of dark, bitter Earth-brewed amber ale. "Maybe Udina was afraid of Finch saying something about my history with the Reds and ruining the reputation of the first human Spectre."

"Udina is too stupid to be afraid and too arrogant to think he couldn't keep it quiet."

Lakota nodded then took a sip of her beer. "He knew that C-Sec would want to take care of a known terrorist."

"But he didn't go through the proper channels. He didn't give it to Palin. He gave it to Chellick." Wrex emptied his drink, put the mug on the table and then picked up the full one. "Why?"

Thoughtfully, Lakota stated, "Palin would have kept the information within C-Sec."

Picking up on the Spectre's tram of thought, Wrex said, "But if Udina sent the images to Chellick and attached a note saying it would be beneficial to you…"

"…then Chellick would get that information to me," finished Lakota. "He knew I had helped Chellick out in the past and would feel obliged to me."

"Udina also knows that you would take care of Finch yourself." Wrex took a long draw from his drink, and then set the tankard on the table. "Everyone knows that about you."

Lakota paused to take another sip of her beer. She looked at Wrex while she swallowed. "So why didn't Udina give it to me directly?"

"Because he doesn't like you?"

The Spectre stared at her companion for a long couple of moments, and then shook her head. "Something else is going on."

"What motivates humans?" asked the krogan

"Love and greed."

Wrex took another long swig from his tankard. "How about love?"

"He only loves himself."

"And status," added Wrex.

"That, too," said Lakota

"Okay, no love," said Wrex. He took another long drink. "That leaves greed."

"It does."

"So what do you plan to do about it?"

Shaking her head, Lakota said, "I need more information. None of this makes any sense."

The krogan nodded slightly. "Where you going to start?"

"Tonight. At the banquet. Udina will be there and so will Anderson. I'll start asking questions, see what falls out of the sky."

"I bet Lysandra will be there, too." Wrex's smile was subtle, but Lakota knew him well enough to catch sight of it.

"Yes," said the Spectre. "I bet she will."

"She probably set us up."

"Yep." Lakota took a bite out of her sandwich, chewed it with purpose.

Wrex took another swig of his drink while waiting for her to continue.

The Spectre swallowed her food and then looked over at the krogan. "There's an answer out there and Lysandra has it."

"So why are we sitting here?" said Wrex. "You want me to ask her the question? I could be firm."

Lakota shook her head. "I don't even know what question to ask yet. There's something going on that involves Cerberus, Red Sand, an asari corporation, Finch and the Reds and I don't know what it is… yet."

"I could ask her that."

"And if she doesn't answer and you can't scare her into answering, we're nowhere and she has been warned."

"I could be really firm," said Wrex.

"And she may tell us, but what if it was a lie?" Lakota huffed in frustration. "I don't want any stories. I want facts. I need the information from Chakwas and Garrus before I confront her. Factual ammo instead of explosive."

"Explosive is much more fun."

The Spectre chuckled and drank some of her ale.

"I could kill her," said Wrex.

Lakota tilted her head and looked at the Battlemaster with delighted fascination.

"May not answer any questions," said the krogan, "but maybe the questions would go away."

Recalling Wrex's last encounter with Lysandra, Lakota said, "I don't think the Citadel could handle it."

Wrex drank some more ryncol. He was expressionless and, except for drinking, he was motionless. It was as if nothing interested him, as if he saw nothing and heard nothing. Except that later, if it mattered, it would turn out that he had seen and heard everything around him.

"One other thing that bothers me," said Lakota.

"Just one?"

"For now. I'm sure there are others, but my limited mind can only handle one thing at a time."

Wrex snorted.

"Lysandra said that the Reds ran Las Catacumbas, but we didn't see any evidence of that. No Reds' members. No Reds' symbols on the packing crates." Lakota's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "I assumed Finch was still with the Reds because of the information we've been getting, but Finch says he left them."

"He could have lied."

"I don't think so."

"So… it makes you wonder if the Reds are really involved."

"Yes, it does," said Lakota.

"Maybe you can ask Lysandra that, too."

"When I see her tomorrow night, I'll fish around. See how far I can get with her."

"Careful," said Wrex. "She's probably going to try the same with you."

"I am incorruptible and true of heart," said Lakota, a broad smile upon her lips. "Besides, Liara will be there."

"You three together in the same room?" The krogan's face was transformed by an amused, toothy grin. "I would pay to see that."

**Next up: The Banquet**


	9. The Banquet

**The Banquet**

Annex B of the Citadel was just down the corridor from the Embassy lounge and the C-Sec executive office. The spacious assembly hall was an unusual in the fact that a large water fountain sat in the middle of the room under a vaulted holographic ceiling depicting a starry sky. The fountain, also known as the Asari's Friendship of Nations, was octagonal in shape and had twenty-eight gilded statues of asari figures that formed an inner ring. Each of these figures, all of which were dressed in ceremonial robes, represented one of the matriarchs who within a span of a few years left Thessia in search of ultimate knowledge. None of the asari had a destination in mind because none had planned on returning. In the center of the fountain- within the ring - rose five square tiers from which the fountain's water cascaded down. Each square tier was slightly smaller than the one below it, giving the formation a pyramid-like shape and the water rippling over the tiers- illuminated with a captivating blue hue- framed the whole piece in an ethereal glow.

The fountain was said to symbolize unity and friendship between all species and during Councilor David Anderson's unofficial acceptance celebration, the evening was a reflection of those very accolades. Ambassadors from all species- human, asari, turian, salarian and many other Citadel races attended the festivities as witnesses to the coronation of the first human admitted into the ranks of the Citadel Council. Along with the various ambassadors were embassy members, leaders of industry, socialites from all species, the media and a large, but discrete number of C-Sec officers who were providing security.

Among those present for the celebration were Commander Lakota Shepard, first human Spectre and Dr. Liara T'Soni, a scientist and expert on Prothean civilizations. Liara was wearing a brilliant white dress with spaghetti straps, a square neckline and an ankle length hemline. The elegant gown was backless and held up by the thin straps which wrapped over her shoulders and then crisscrossed along her back before reattaching just above the waist. The shimmering cloth hugged each of the asari's subtle curves but once below her hips, flowed loosely in a straight line down to her ankles. On her right shoulder she draped a small, thin strap handbag made out of a silvery material and on her feet she wore a silver pair of ankle strap high heels with an open-toe design.

While walking through the crowd, Lakota chanced to look upon her lover. Her breath caught and her chest felt heavy, as though a large weight had suddenly been dropped upon it. She had the feeling multiple times throughout the evening and it coincided to every time she had caught sight of the asari walking with her. Lakota thought her lover exuded an inexplicable grace and confounding beauty and was momentarily beguiled by both. When they reached the fountain, the pair stopped to take in the monumental sight.

Lakota leaned in, her lips inches away from her lover's neck, and then whispered, "You look ravishing, Doctor."

"Thank you, Commander." Liara gazed upon her lover's form as though memorizing each sensual detail. "You, too, look exquisite tonight."

For this evening's event, Lakota was wearing a black, sleeveless dress with a turtleneck collar and skirt hemline that fell slightly at the knees. The sleek garment was semi-fitted on the top, but just below her waist the fabric loosened up and hung easily around her toned, athletic thighs offering a seductive contrast from the fitted top. A silver chain-link belt was slung low on her hips, accentuating her slim shape while two inch black heels added some height to her five foot nine frame.

"Well, I didn't want to disappoint my date," said Lakota.

"Oh," teased Liara, "is this a date then?"

The Spectre smiled brightly before saying, "I think we'd better hold off on calling this a date. You remember what happened last time."

"I remember it ended quite well," said the asari with an impish gleam in her eye.

Lakota chuckled softly. "Well, yes, it did. But this time I'm hoping to avoid all that running around on the Citadel."

Councilor David Anderson, who was outfitted in his formal military uniform –a dark blue blazer adorned with various awards badges, insignias, service stripes and ribbons and navy blue pants with a white stripe down each side, saw the pair standing next to the fountain and walked toward them. "Liara," he said, "you look spectacular, as always."

Smiling shyly, Liara said, "Thank you, Councilor."

"Don't get formal on me here," said Anderson. "Too much of that going on as it is. Please, call me David."

"Very well, Coun-… David."

Anderson turned his gaze and attention toward Lakota. "And you, Shepard… no dress blues?" There was a hint of disapproval in his voice.

"I know it's shocking, but I was trying to be politically correct this evening." Grinning, the Spectre added, "I didn't want the other Council members to think I was playing favorites by wearing an Alliance military uniform."

Shrugging his shoulders, Anderson said, "You're probably right. The media is a concern, as well."

"Aren't they always?" said Lakota sardonically.

"For some reason, they have been poking around Mario Torres' murder. Udina has been helping C-Sec divert the coverage." The Councilor paused a moment. "Udina said he spoke to you the other day."

Lakota looked her friend in the eye and flashed a non-committal smile. "That's one way of looking at it."

"He also said you had an attitude."

"I don't have an attitude," said Lakota. "I have a personality he can't handle."

A bit uncomfortable with the tonal shift in conversation, Liara distracted herself by studying the gilded figures of the fountain.

"He also said that you stormed off and were unwilling to listen to reason." Anderson's voice once again had a tone of disapproval.

Shaking her head, Lakota asked, "And just when did you start listening to what Udina has to say?"

"He's my advisor, Shepard. He's _always_ advising." The Councilor's let out a short, rueful laugh and his voice lost its serious edge. "And sometimes it's fun to argue with him."

Lakota crossed her arms while leveling her gaze upon her friend. "Someone once told me never to argue with an idiot, because he'll drag you down to his level and beat you with experience."

"I told you that."

"How's that new level working out for you?"

The new Councilor rolled his eyes in gentle exasperation. "Liara, I don't know how you put up with her."

Hearing her name, Liara turned back toward the conversation. Smiling softly, she said, "It takes time and patience, Councilor."

Anderson did not bother to correct the scientist's use of his title instead of his name. "Neither of which I have much of these days."

As the crowd in the assembly hall continued to grow, the salarian and asari Council members arrived with their personal security escorts. The C-Sec officers scanned each member of the Council's entourage thoroughly, but implemented a minimal check on the Councilors themselves. Around the walls of the large room, hanging roughly fifteen feet apart, were abstract murals of celestial objects. En masse they were diverse and yet the same; all had the look of being digitally rendered. Five long tables filled with various, cross-species appetizers were setup end to end along the back wall and on either end were mini-bars attended by turian bartenders. To negate any question about digestibility, servers from all species walked through the crowds carrying food or drink that was compatible with their own kind. On the whole, the crowd of attendees was energized and animated – some were drinking and mingling, some were partaking of the wide variety appetizers and others were strolling through the room attempting to find someone they knew, but all appeared to be having a good time.

"This is not your type of celebration, Shepard," said Anderson. "Am I correct in assuming you're not here to congratulate me?"

"Well, that's not the only reason, Councilor." Lakota grinned. "I'm looking into Torres' murder. It led me here."

Anderson acknowledged the statement with a nod of his head. "The shot that killed Torres was one in a million."

Lakota agreed. "It was impressive."

"After we talked, I did some checking. The Alliance has a list of names. Names of people who could make that shot." Anderson lowered his voice so only Lakota and Liara could hear. "It is very small list and your name is on it."

"Oh?" said Lakota with mild curiosity. "Anyone else I know?"

The Councilor shook his head. "Tomas Finch is _not _on that list."

Softly, Liara interjected, "Finch admitted that he did it though."

"From what the Alliance knows, he doesn't have the skill set." Anderson's gaze turned to steel as he breathed in deeply through his nose. "There are only two people on that list Shepard. You and a drell assassin."

"Nice to know I'm in good company."

"This is serious, Shepard. It's why C-Sec pulled you in for questioning."

"Finch said he killed Torres and I believe him." The Spectre scowled when she saw Anderson's questioning gaze. "Trust me, at that moment, he wasn't about to lie to me."

"Could he have improved enough to do it?" asked Liara.

The Councilor shrugged his shoulders. "He'd have to have some serious training. Maybe physical augmentation, as well."

"Something is going on," said Lakota. "I don't know what, but I will find out. I just need a little more time."

"Time for what, Shepard?" said Donnel Udina. He inserted himself within the group by stepping next to Anderson; Lakota instinctually moved closer to Liara.

Ignoring the question, Lakota said, "It's good to see you, Advisor." Her voice was laced with light sarcasm which her thoughts mimicked. _Because it means you're not stabbing me in the back._

Sensing the unspoken tension, Anderson began introductions in the hopes of defusing the charged moment. "Advisor Donnel Udina this is Dr. Liara T'Soni, an unofficial asari attaché to the _Normandy_ who helped take down Saren."

Udina gazed at Lakota with gray, expressionless eyes giving her a small nod. He was wearing a grey cashmere blazer, grey slacks a grey shirt with a Windsor collar and sapphire cuff links, a charcoal tie with a sapphire tie clasp and black shoes with pointy toes. He also had a long, stylish off-white silk scarf that hooked around neck- its ends draping to his waist.

"Liara is the Prothean expert," continued Anderson, "who helped decipher the Prothean monoliths. She was indispensible while tracking down Saren."

"I'm sure," said Udina. "Councilor, just remember what I said earlier. When the turian Council member arrives, the four of you will be ushered to a private room in order to be interviewed by various media groups."

"Why is your scarf so long?" said Lakota.

Udina turned and looked at the Spectre. "What?"

"Your scarf," Lakota said, "is dangerously long. You might step on it and strangle yourself."

Liara gently put her hand on Lakota's forearm.

"What the blazes are you talking about, Shepard?" said Udina.

"Your scarf. I may have to exercise my powers as a Spectre and make an arrest right here. Your scarf is a safety hazard to both you and those around you."

As her fingers dug into her lover's arm, Liara stepped closer. The fake smile upon her lips contrasted with the concerned look in her dark eyes.

Udina stared at Lakota with an expression of both annoyance and confusion. Anderson had averted his eyes and appeared to be focused on the fountain in the room. The smile on his face hinted that he was also struggling with laughter.

While the prickly energy within the group began to rise, Liara's grip on Lakota's arm intensified and began to leave reddened fingertip marks.

"Looks dandy though," said Lakota.

Udina, who was used to getting more respect, narrowed his eyes while he glared sternly at Lakota. "We'll talk later, Shepard," he said before walking off.

Anderson let out the laughter he had been suppressing, but then quickly caught himself and adorned a more stoic bearing. "Why did you needle him, Shepard?"

"He was being an idiot again."

"If you needle him every time he does that, you're going to be very busy."

"So much to do, so little time," said Lakota.

Shaking his head, Anderson headed off toward the appetizer table. "Safety hazard," he mumbled and then chuckled again.

Liara had shifted her grip and now had her arm through Lakota's. "I know why you needled Advisor Udina."

"It's my sworn duty as a Spectre to protect the universe from idiots."

"You needled him because he ignored me."

Lakota looked into Liara's blue eyes which seemed as deep as an ocean's depths. For a moment, the Spectre felt as though she was staring at eternity. "That's one of the defining characteristics of an idiot."

"Probably," said Liara with a smile.

"Doctor, do you think you would ever stop studying Protheans and take up something else?"

Shaking her head, Liara said, "I can think of nothing that would pull me away from my research."

"Nothing?" teased Lakota. "I remember in your lab last week…"

"Except you," said Liara. "Occasionally. And if it is the day I am thinking about, I feel you overpowered me. Therefore, that does not count."

"Then how come I was on bottom?"

"Your ability to overpower me has many forms, Commander," said Liara. She scanned the room to make sure no one was watching, and then playfully swatted her lover's ass. "I will go get us some drinks."

The Spectre grinned affectionately. "Sounds perfect, Doctor. I'll just… mingle."

Looking up, Lakota enjoyed the sight of the starlight twinkling on the obsidian backdrop of the holographic sky that seemed to ascend infinitely above. She had always found peace while gazing amongst the stars, even artificial ones. The room's vaulted ceiling was roughly thirty meters tall, the height of a nine story building, and as the illusory celestial heavens travelled down the outer walls it disappeared into black shadows before the bright contrast of stark white walls appeared ten meters above the floor. The visual effect was stunning, as though the starry night sky was suspended above the room.

After a few moments of star gazing, Lakota sensed someone behind her. She turned her head and was greeted by a vision of sex.

"Commander Shepard."

"Lysandra."

The asari diplomat smiled at Lakota. There was a touch of conspiratorial intimacy in the smile as though she was adjusting to the fact that they were alone.

To Lakota, Lysandra exuded sex. The Spectre knew that the asari would like it, would need it and would want more of it than most other were prepared to give, and she would be totally self-absorbed in during it. It was in the way the tight purple dress wrapped snuggly around her body accentuating her curves and mounds in politely provocative ways. It was in the technique used to apply her make-up – emphasizing her big, dark blue eyes; high regal cheek bones and slightly pouty purple lips. It was embedded in her every seductive mannerism- the sway of her hips, the lilt in her voice, the flutter of her eyelashes, the way she invaded personal space as though wrapping herself in a forbidden blanket.

"You seem… distracted, Commander." The asari emissary stepped close, her words purring out of her mouth. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"It may look like I am doing nothing, but on the cellular level I'm actually quite busy."

Lysandra chuckled. Her smile was alluring but had a hint of danger laced within the edges of its graceful shape. "How did you ever become a Spectre?"

"I have the power to channel my imagination into ever soaring levels of suspicion and paranoia." Lakota flashed her most bewitching smile. "And right now I suspect you of a great many things."

"Oh… do you? How intriguing." The asari's face was slightly flushed. "You still carrying your gun?"

"I am."

Lysandra's eyes rolled over the Spectre's strong svelte frame as though appraising a fine piece of jewelry- taking in each soft curve, each hard cut and delving into the hauntingly smooth hues of color.

"I've hidden it," said Lakota.

"Maybe you'd allow me the pleasure of trying to find it."

"I'm afraid I'm busy tonight. Something to do with a rise in Elcor protests and protecting the Council. Things have gotten pretty heated up. You know how emotional those big guys can get."

Lysandra looked over at the bar where Liara was still in the process of getting drinks. "Yes, Commander, I do understand." She stepped close to Lakota and leaned in so her lips hovered next to the Commander's ear. As she shifted her hips, her breasts lightly brushed the uncovered flesh of Lakota's arm and then she whispered in a low, dulcet tone. "Saving the universe doesn't keep your bed warm, Commander."

Lakota's eyes widened in surprise as an unwanted and unexpected tingling sensation rippled down her spine. She turned her head to face the asari emissary and was greeted with Lysandra's soft, succulent lips gently capturing hers, holding them momentarily in a hauntingly sensual kiss embedded with untold promise and lingering pleasures. Neither moved to deepen the erotically charged caress but neither pulled away either. As the tendrils of the hypnotic spell drifted away, Lysandra's moist inquisitive tongue slipped out and languidly stole a taste from the commander's lips.

The asari emissary stepped back and then smiled coyly. "That's for saving the Citadel."

Lakota tilted her head as though analyzing the asari standing in front of her. She had allowed the kiss to run its course because she was curious about Lysandra's motivations and wondered how the asari hoped to benefit by playing such a game. With a rascally smile, she said, "Someday we'll look back on this, laugh nervously and change the subject."

Lysandra's eyes shamelessly followed the contours of the Lakota's athletic shape- her gaze reminiscent of a predatory animal. As her eyes continued to undress the Commander, the tip of the asari's tongue peeked out between her lips, licking the top one a moment before she gently bit her lower in a subtle but intentionally erotic display. "Oh, I don't think so, Commander."

The Spectre raised one eyebrow, the devilish grin still posed upon her lips. "Okay, it's probably just me then."

"You know where to find me, Commander…" Out of the corner of her eye, Lysandra had spied Liara's return. "If you want to get in touch, I'm sure we could figure out something that..," she smiled suggestively, "...gratifies us both." As she walked away, every step and sway of the asari emissary's ample stride seemed to radiate raw sex appeal.

Lakota murmured to herself, "Undoubtedly."

Liara, with two glasses of champagne in hand, walked over to the Spectre and stood next to her. After handing her lover one, they raised their glasses giving a silent toast with a nod of their heads and simultaneous tap their glasses.

Liara shook her head ruefully. "Why is it that people seem so bright until you hear them speak?"

Taking a sip of champagne, Lakota said, "Because light travels faster than sound."

The asari scientist chuckled and then took a drink from her glass. Afterward she asked, "What did the hussy want?"

Lakota almost choked on her champagne. "Hussy?"

"I told you before, Commander, I am attempting to broaden my vocabulary."

"Yes, but 'hussy'?"

"I saw what Lysandra did. It seemed an accurate term."

Lakota smiled sheepishly. "She was flirting and fishing for something, but I'm not sure what."

Liara eyed her lover with great contemplation. "You, perhaps?"

"Well," said Lakota, "she can't have me. I'm yours."

"Perhaps she is not as smart as she claims. I would be willing to _explain_ some things to her."

"Wait a minute," said Lakota. "Are you being jealous?"

Liara shook her head. "Analytical." She took another slow sip from her glass, her eyes momentarily spying the asari emissary who was now in an animated conversation with an elcor diplomat. "Lysandra is sexually rapacious and perfectly amoral about it. I am just acknowledging that fact."

Curious about her lover's point of view, Lakota asked, "But you don't disapprove of her behavior?"

"Professionalism prevents disapproval."

"So the term hussy…" Lakota purposely left the sentence open-ended.

"…is just a clinical designation," said Liara.

Lakota smiled and raised the glass to her lips. "I so admire professionalism."

"And apparently," said Liara with a playfully sarcastic edge, "her ass."

This time Lakota did choke on her champagne.

"You've nothing to worry about, Doctor," said the Spectre. "I -..."

Lakota's voice unexpectedly and abruptly cut off. Confused by the silence, Liara looked up in time to hear a single gunshot ring out and see her lover fall to the ground.

"Shepard!" she screamed.

**Next up: The Chase**


	10. The Chase

**Author's Note: **

In my opinion, the omni-tool is very cool, but ME does not explain it adequately. "Omni-tools are handheld devices that combine a computer microframe, sensor analysis pack, and minifacturing fabricator. When equipped, an omni-tool appears over a person's left hand and forearm as an orange hologram." So in my imaginings, I see the omni-tool as being an advanced version of a skintight, fingerless, cyberglove. It wraps around the wrist, covers most of the palm, has loops over the middle and ring finger to hold it secure while leaving the back of the hand bare. (You can look _cyberglove_ up on Wikipedia. *grin*)

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 10: The Chase<span>**

"Shepard!"

_A few minutes before…_

_Liara and Lakota were standing next to the __Asari's Friendship of Nations__ fountain and in the midst of a playful conversation. Roughly ten feet to the left of them stood Councilor David Anderson, who was in an animated discussion with his advisor Donnel Udina. Neither pair was paying attention to the other. _

_Lakota glanced upward enjoying the sight of the starlight twinkling on the obsidian backdrop of the holographic sky. The room's vaulted ceiling was roughly thirty meters tall, the height of a nine story building, and as the illusory celestial heavens travelled down the outer walls it disappeared into black shadow before the bright contrast of stark white walls materialized ten meters above the floor. The visual effect was stunning, as though the starry night sky hovered above the room._

"_You've nothing to worry about, Doctor," said Lakota. "I -..."_

_A large multi-lighted ball hung in the middle of the room - suspended from the ceiling by some unseen hook. Its projected soft lights fell upon the floor and within the shaded depths between the floor and ceiling and flashed on something which reflected brightly for a moment. To the Spectre's trained eye it resembled a mirror or a magnifying lens. Instinct took over and she lunged toward Udina and Anderson, pushing the advisor who fell to the floor but knocking into Anderson and rolling with him to the ground as a bullet smacked into the floor next to them. The whirring sound of the ricochet blended with the bang of the original._

"_Shepard!" yelled Liara. _

The now…

In one fluid movement Liara reached into her handbag, pulled out the Commander's HMWP pistol and tossed it to her lover. Her quick movement had been honed through experience. All of the months spent hunting Saren and Sovereign and practicing aboard the _Normandy_ had sharpened her reflexes- she didn't think, she reacted.

Catching the pistol in mid-air with her right hand, Lakota fired four shots into the dark space where she'd seen the flash. She waited a moment, but there was no return fire.

Still lying on top of Anderson, she hurriedly asked, "Are you okay?"

The Councilor was stunned by the split-second events, but quickly came to focus. "Yes," he said. "Go get the bastard!"

The crowd had been oblivious to the first shot, but as soon as the Spectre returned fire, the room erupted into chaos. People were screaming and scattering in all directions while C-Sec officers were unsuccessfully trying to corral them through one exit door. Lakota knocked off her heels, got her feet under her and burst toward the maintenance door she'd spotted earlier. She estimated the shooter was four stories up and had a five second head start if they had run after missing their target. She reached beneath the hem of her dress and peeled off the omni-tool that had been taped to her inner thigh. After pulling the glove on and activating it, she attempted to open the maintenance door. Her Spectre access codes failed.

"Perhaps I could be of assistance, Commander." From her purse, Liara pulled out the maintenance badge Lakota had found in Las Catacumbas, and passed it in front of the card reader. The status light lit green and the door swooshed open.

"Nice job, Doctor," said Lakota. "I need to carry you around in my pocket for just such emergencies."

"Oh, do you get locked out of places often?"

"More than I'd like to admit."

C-Sec officers were running toward the Spectre and scientist yelling for them to stop, but the pair quickly stepped through the threshold and then the door shut. C-Sec attempted to open the door with their access badges, but their codes, like the Spectre's, were denied.

The corridor Lakota and Liara stepped into was immense- fifteen feet wide with no visible end to its height. To the left and right of the couple were long hallways lined with identical doorways and towering above on both sides of the corridor were five foot wide platforms with an open five foot space between. For every story of height, there was a platform running in the same direction as the corridor that seemed to stretch for kilometers on end. Lakota guessed the platforms wrapped around each of the Citadel Annexes and were the backdoor access routes for the maintenance workers. Lakota couldn't discern how someone would gain access to the higher level platforms though – there were no staircases, ladders or elevators within eye's view and the exposed sides of the metal platforms were lined with tubular hand rails, blocking any access on or off the platforms.

"Liara, I need you to use your biotics to lift me up to the fifth tier." Lakota temporarily tucked her pistol into her silver, chain link belt and again reached beneath the hem of her black dress. This time she quickly unstrapped her dagger, _Chaos_, from her inner left thigh and proceeded to cinch it and its sheath on her inner left forearm. "I think the shooter is on the forth, but I'm not positive. But if I am right, I'd rather be a level higher than lower."

Liara's head tilted slightly as she watched her lover remove and reattached the concealed dagger. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, Liara said, "How many more weapons do you have under that dress, Commander?"

Grinning mischievously, Lakota quipped, "Define 'weapon', Doctor."

Suddenly, before Liara could utter a playful retort, Lakota raised her hand, placing a forefinger on her lips, indicating that they should both be quiet. When the door to the corridor had shut, all ambient noise from the assembly hall had been silenced. The only sounds in the maintenance corridor were their voices… and the sound of foot falls echoing through the passageway.

"After you lift me up, head down the corridor. If the shooter comes down to your level, stop 'em. Don't ask any questions- just pin their ass to the wall." Instantly the coquettish banter of a lover had been replaced by the serious, focused temperament of a commander.

Liara took a long, deep breath to center herself and then stretched out her arm toward Lakota. Biotic tendrils the color of indigo flickered across the scientist's azure skin and around the fabric of her white dress mimicking an intimate caress just before they flared out, coiling around her lover and lifting her up. Normally, Liara's biotics were used in a defensive or offensive application, but she and Lakota had been practicing alternative uses- like levitating someone. The energy needed for pushing, throwing or creating singularities was much easier to generate because they did not require a preamble of constantly fluctuating limitations. The use of those biotic skills was almost reactionary to the point of the ability- and the parameters of force applied to them, being an instinctual, fixed calculation. In contrast, wrapping someone in biotic energy and lifting them up to a specific height without crushing or dropping them took meticulous concentration and was exhausting on both the physical and mental level.

As she was being raised to the fifth tier, Lakota double-checked that her dagger was secure and then with her right hand grabbed the pistol that was still holstered in the thin metal belt. The moment she was at the fifth level, she latched onto the left platform's railing with her free hand. When the biotic tendrils dissipated, she leapt onto the smooth metal platform and bolted in a dead run down the railway in the direction of the echoing footfalls she'd heard. Armed with only a pistol, dagger and omni-tool, the Spectre tried to look on the bright side of the situation - the little black dress she wore moved easily while sprinting and her bare feet made little noise upon the cold, hard surface.

While she sped pass numerous doors, she glanced to the platform above her to the right, to the platform below her to the right and directly in front of her trying to catch a glimpse of the shooter. Even with the door mishap and biotic lift, the shooter would not have much of a head start and as each second passed, Lakota knew that margin would lessen. Not only was the Spectre fast on her feet, but she was also unencumbered by armor of any kind and she guessed the shooter would not be as liberated.

Sprinting required quick breathing, so Lakota inhaled and exhaled through her mouth using her diaphragm to expand her stomach. This instinctively stimulated her need to breathe faster and deeper which supplied more oxygen to power her body. As sweat trickled down her face and perspiration gathered between her shoulder blades, she focused on the rhythm of her breathing- consistently inhaling and then exhaling every three steps. She had been running full tilt for just over a minute when the muscles in her legs and arms began to burn. Then she caught sight of the shooter and her discomfort fell to the wayside.

The figure was running in the same direction on the platform opposite to hers, but one level below. From the size and shape she could tell it was a human male and although running, he wasn't nearly as fast because, as she suspected, he was fully armored. There was no easy way to get down to that platform, but the Spectre knew there was a hard way.

"Damned if I do, damned if I don't," muttered Lakota. "So dammit, I will."

While in an adrenaline fed sprint, the Spectre shifted the pistol to her left hand. The moment she was head to head with the shooter, she vaulted over the railing, using her right hand and arm as a lever for her hips and legs to pass above the metal bar and then sailed down, feet first, to the opposite railway below. Performed with precision timing, her feet landed squarely in the shooter's back. He was launched forward, arms and legs flailing, to the deck of the platform – landing harshly and skidding ten feet on his stomach before stopping. The Spectre, who was prepared for the feet first collision, bounded off the man as they impacted. Because of the angle of her downward trajectory and her weight increasing her momentum, she was forced to tuck and tumble in the same direction as the shooter, but the benefit of her gymnastics training glowed as she came to a halt on her feet- less than five feet from her target.

The shooter was on his feet immediately, swinging his left leg out just as she pointed her pistol. His foot caught her left hand and sent the gun sailing toward the wall where it ricocheted and fell below to the ground floor.

Most snipers Lakota knew did not like to wear full face helmets because the head gear obscured vision and environmental factors. This sniper was no exception. He was not wearing a helmet, so Lakota caught sight of his unmistakable red hair and piercing blue eyes at once. It was Tomas Finch.

His blood-shot eyes grew wide in recognition, and then narrowed in anger. "Shepard!" he sneered.

Not wasting any time, Lakota launched herself at him. He blocked her left hook with his right forearm, then her right punch to the face with his left forearm. He stuck out with a right front kick, but she sidestepped it and then retaliated with a left elbow strike which he managed to sidestep. They traded kicks and strikes and punches with no one connecting and no one gaining an upper hand. Without armor, Lakota would have had the advantage of speed, but somehow Finch, even in the light weight armor, was quick enough to avoid her. And because of that armor, he had the advantage of physical protection. Any blow she landed – if she could land one – would have to be focused on the one area that was not armored- his head.

"You know, Finch," said Lakota as she jammed her right forearm toward his face. "I used to think that you were a colossal pain in the neck."

He caught her strike in both of his hands and with a grunt, shoved her back five paces.

The Spectre landed easily on her bare feet, squatting low in preparation for another attack. "Now," she growled, "I have a much lower opinion of you."

"Fuck you, Shepard!" screamed Finch. "We used to be _friends_!"

He came at her in a fury. First, with a left straight punch which she sidestepped.

"That was a long time ago, Finch."

Then a right straight punch which she deflected with both of her hands.

"What you've done here today…"

She ducked out of his reach when he launched into a spinning heel kick which was designed to send him to the ground.

"…erased all of that…"

Then he followed up with a sweep kick that skimmed along the floor, but she easily jumped over it.

"…and any sympathy I might have had for you."

Lakota crouched low, a sinister smile playing on her lips, and with slow, methodical precision, her right hand drew the dagger from its sheath.

"Fuck you, Shepard." Finch got back to his feet, but his blood-shot eyes were frantically scanning the area as though seeking an escape route.

"You said that already."

Lakota pressed her advantage again. She stepped close and jabbed with her left fist, but he blocked it easily with his right forearm. He countered with a left hook, but she ducked underneath and then with the speed of a cobra strike, she swung right arm in a wide arc and imbedded her dagger in his suit's left rear power cell. Mid-fight, Lakota changed her tactics- disable the suit's powering in order to slow Finch down. She also assumed his suit had an exoskeleton upgrade imbuing him the extra strength and endurance. By disabling the suit's upgrades, Finch would lose his punching power and his extra protection.

Instinctively Finch swung left arm out while twisting around. Although protected against electricity, Lakota's dagger,_ Chaos_, was not immune to getting stuck momentarily in the power cells circuitry. The half-second delay created by the lodged dagger gave Finch the unexpected opportunity and his left armored forearm landed heavily on Lakota's shoulder. The blow connected with such force that it launched her into the air and into the wall, but not hard enough for her to release _Chaos_.

Lakota immediately rolled to her feet and faced off with Finch once again. Unflinchingly, she met his gaze, and then smiled in smug satisfaction. When fighting an unknown opponent, the first few minutes were crucial to gauging the enemy's strengths and weaknesses and forming a strategy to defeat them. Being able to take a punch was as important as being able to throw one, and more informative. From the hit she had just taken, Lakota ascertained that, although still powerful, Finch's strength was ebbing and his speed was slowing. The damaged cell was already having an effect.

Sensing the weakness, Lakota advanced once again. "So tell me, Finchy…" She shuffled toward the armored man, her hands held loosely up on either side of her face. "Who were your trying to kill?" _Chaos _was in her right hand, blade pointing down toward the floor. "Udina?"

"I'm not telling you, shit!" He swung his leg up and across. She stepped inside it, close to him, so not much of the kick got her and then she hit him in the throat with the crotch between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand.

"I can almost understand that one," she said. "He's an ass."

Finch was stunned momentarily and the Spectre took advantage. She dropped low underneath his arms, pushed off with her left leg and spun quickly around, her back facing him. The momentum of the low, quick spin added extra force when, at the end of their semi-circle arc, her right fist and _Chaos_ connected with the power cell on Finch's right side. She finished her move with a forward somersault, tumbling out of the reach of his retaliatory swing.

Finch grunted and spun away and then settled back into his fighting stance.

Since both of his suit's power cells were disabled, Lakota sheathed _Chaos_. She needed answers, which she knew he had, and therefore needed him alive.

"Or was it Anderson?" said the Spectre. She noticed the shift in his facial expression and knew she'd guessed correctly. "Oh… it was Anderson."

"Go to hell, _Spectre_!" Finch bobbed and wove a little as he grinned maliciously. "You have no idea who your true enemy is!"

He came after her with a left jab which she sidestepped and then a right, which she ducked underneath. She feigned a straight left to his face. He brought his right arm across to block it and she leapt up in order to loop a big left hook over the block and nailed him solidly on the right cheekbone. Finch staggered, which was encouraging to her, but he did not go down.

"Let me give you some words of wisdom, Finchy," said Lakota. She followed her hit with a right uppercut, but he leaned away from it and it missed.

Her right side was exposed and Finch hammered a solid left hook into her ribs. She turned with the punch so she was at right angles to him and came around with her right elbow and hit him in the temple. He staggered again and exhaled in a kind of snort. She knew she had him if she was quick.

"You see, friends may come and go…" She followed the right elbow with a left forearm. "But enemies…" Then a left back fist. "…tend to accumulate." And finishing with a right cross.

All were in rhythm.

Every one of Lakota's muscles and movements felt loose and warm. She hit him with left front kick to the body and then spun into a reverse roundhouse with her right foot connecting to the body. Finch stumbled backward, but she stayed on him. His hands had dropped making it easy for her left hook to land on his the head. She followed up with a right hook to the head. His hands were at his sides now. Lakota thought it was like hitting the heavy bag.

"By the way, that light at the end of the tunnel…" She jabbed him again in the face with her right fist and then turned her hip in and jumped up slightly bringing another left overhand down upon him. "…is the light of my omni-tool knocking you on your ass!" The punch hurt like hell, but for Lakota the supreme satisfaction that came with such a righteous hit was worth the pain.

Finch had been too far gone to slip by her punch and it caught him square on the cheek. He took another step backward and then his legs gave out. Suddenly, he was on the floor- sitting on his bent legs.

Shaking her sore hands, Lakota began to circle him- as though a predator stalking her prey. "Who is it, Finch? Who hired you to kill Anderson?"

Finch shook his head slightly and his eyes slowly came back into focus. "Fuck you."

When she stood in front of him again, she stopped and slapped him with the open palm of her right hand. The impact sounded like a cracking whip. "Don't piss me off, Finch! I'm running out of places to hide the bodies." Then she slapped him with her left hand. The slaps were not meant to hurt, they were meant to humiliate and bring his mind back to focus.

The dazed man tried to move, but only managed to raise his head in defiance. "You're dead, Shepard. You just don't know it yet."

"Wake up, Finch!" She slapped him with the open face of her right hand, hitting so hard that it left a red outline. "This can go two ways! Either you tell me who hired you and you live. Or you don't tell me who hired you, I kill you, and I find out on my own."

As the fingers on his right hand punched a button on the back of his left glove, he sneered, "I'll never tell you, TRAITOR!" Immediately his eyes squeezed shut and he cried out- his face contorting into a grimace of agony. When his eyes opened again, he glared menacingly at the Spectre and she saw that the whites of his eyes were now a vicious, blood-red hue. Lakota knew he had somehow dosed himself with Red Sand.

She pulled _Chaos_ out of its sheath and lunged at him leading with her left shoulder. Biotic energy engulfed them both as his arms went around her- pinning her right arm and dagger against her side - and they tumbled to the ground. With her free left hand she jabbed her fingers toward his eyes, but he forced them into a roll that pinned her left arm. Then she head-butted him, banging her forehead on his nose. He grunted but did not let go. She head-butted him again, but he kept them rolling across the platform. She was finally able to free her left hand and then jammed her forearm on his throat. A moment later they rolled under the railing and off of the platform, plunging toward the ground below.

While falling they continued to grapple. Lakota kept her forearm firmly pressed to Finch's neck while she tried to maneuver their body positions so he was on the bottom and would take the impact of the fall. He was fighting for the opposite.

Just before impact, their bodies were engulfed in a second biotic ring which slowed their decent drastically. When they did hit the ground Finch's armored body took the impact, his arms released Lakota and she rolled away bouncing quickly to her feet.

"Commander." Liara ran up to her lover, glancing over her bruised body, bare feet and torn dress. An angry red line of blood trickled down the Spectre's right thigh where the blade of her dagger cut her during the rolling struggle while multiple scrapes and abrasions covered her bare flesh, particularly the knuckles of her hands.

Lakota winked playfully. "Doctor, am I _glad _to see you."

"As I ran down the corridor, I heard a noise and saw you two fighting." She handed Lakota her HMWP pistol –the four story fall had only scuffed it. "Are you okay?"

"I'm good," said Lakota. She sheathed the dagger and pointed her pistol at Finch's rising form which was thirty feet away. "You know, every day I beat my own previous record for number of days I've stayed alive."

"Not funny, Commander."

"Ah well…," smirked the Spectre, "I guess it's time for some thrilling heroics then."

"I think today's heroics are mine to claim, Commander."

"Damn, I think you're right, Doctor." Lakota glanced up to where the four story fall began. "And I'm not arguing with the results."

"I am nearly always right."

"'Cause you're a Prothean expert?"

"I see you have been paying attention," said Liara.

Finch had risen to his full height and the very air around him radiated with a sharp, biotic edge. His face had a pallid complexion which made the dark red hue of his eyes look demonic rather than blood-shot, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly as though he was having trouble breathing. Engulfed in a blue, biotic sphere, he took a step toward the Spectre. "Shepard! You stupid bitch! You ruined EVERYTHING!"

"You say I'm a bitch like it's a bad thing." Lakota refocused her aim locking her pistol on his head. "The deal still stands, Finch. Tell me who hired you and I will let you go."

"You don't scare me! You can't touch me! You are NOTHING!" He stretched his neck from side to side and shook his arms as though trying to loosen them up. "And you are about to DIE!"

He continued his slow, methodical advance and the Spectre knew that with the added influence of Red Sand, Finch was no longer concerned with dying. "The man's taken an irrational dislike of me, Doctor."

As she stepped next to her lover dark blue biotic tendrils wrapped around Liara's right arm. "Well, as is your habit, it appears you have made yourself an annoyance in his world."

"Good point. What do you say, Finch?" asked Lakota. "Last chance. Who hired you?"

"You and your asari whore will burn in hell!"

"Thank you. We are all refreshed and challenged by your unique point of view."

Fury ignited in his possessed eyes and a virulent biotic force lashed out from Finch's form. The raw power radiating off of his body was like nothing either of them had ever seen. Liara stepped in front of her lover, erecting a biotic shield which isolated them both from the massive bombardment emanating from the drug addled man. Luminous bursts of biotic energy flared out in every direction encompassing the whole area in pulsating waves of crushing force. The sight was reminiscent of a supernova explosion and Lakota could only guess the amount of energy that was needed to sustain the cascading tempest. The attack was a marvelous terror to behold, but it was an arduous and exhausting task for the asari to maintain the protective barrier under such a torrent.

Lakota looked over at Liara. Her arms- the focal point of the spherical biotic barrier- were held out in a defensive posture, eyes closed, brows furrowed in concentration and sweat beading up on her forehead. She knew her lover would not be able to hold the shielding much longer, so she prepared for plan B- shoot, charge and shoot some more. In that order. She placed a comforting hand on Liara's shoulder and through the blue biotic storm, she focused on her target.

Then suddenly there was nothing. A complete and utter visual quiet had engulfed the room which just a moment before had been filled with a dazzling display of wild biotics. Lakota still had both her eye and pistol trained on Finch and watched as the energies woven around him slipped away like a radiant sunset dipping below the horizon. In stunned silence, she watched as the man dropped to his knees- a shocked expression cemented on his pallid face- and then he fell over.

Lakota stepped in front of Liara, who had dropped her biotic barrier, and walked cautiously over to the fallen man, her pistol leading the way. The body was face down on the ground and when she reached it, she nudged the right shoulder with her bare foot. There was no reaction. Lakota kneeled down to the ground and then reached out to find a pulse on Finch's neck.

In case of a trap, Liara had edged next to her lover, biotics ready to be unleashed.

"Well… hellfire," Lakota groused as she looked up toward Liara. "Eat right, work hard, die anyway."

**Next chapter: The Calm**


	11. The Calm

**Author's Note:**

Even though ME3 has been released, my intention is to continue to update this story at least once a week. *crosses fingers*

Thank you to all who have Fav'd, Alerted and left Reviews! I am grateful for your interest and feedback because it keeps me focused and motivated! :)

Now on with the show…

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11: The Calm<strong>

"I really don't like you, Shepard."

Once again, Lakota was sitting in an uncomfortable chair across from Executor Venari Pallin, head of Citadel Security. He was seated at his desk, staring at her- once again- with unveiled contempt, but this time Liara was sitting in a chair next to her. The two had been summoned in order to give their statements regarding the events that happened before, during and after the banquet. Luckily, Councilor Anderson had intervened and they had been allowed to clean up and change into more comfortable clothes before traveling to the C-Sec head's office.

"Well that's one of the crazier things I've heard today, Executor," said Lakota. She was dressed in sleek, charcoal grey cargo pants, a matching grey short-sleeved shirt and a pair of black military boots. Her crew-collared shirt was highlighted with white sleeves and a N7 marking on the left shoulder. The smooth, durable fabric hugged her form so well that it looked as though it had been tailored to fit. She crossed her legs, placing her hands upon her knees and leaned forward as if letting a friend in on a secret. "And when I tell you about the rest of my day, you'll appreciate-..."

"Cut the crap," said Pallin. The Executor had a very cold gaze. There was something menacing about the way his forehead sloped down over his sharp little eyes, something about the aggressive cut of his nose and the thickness of his wide jaw. "Eight people dead, in as many days. All connected to you, in one way or another."

The Spectre leaned back in her chair, cocking her head slightly as though engrossed in the turian's words. "You know," said Lakota, "I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe."

Pallin's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "So you have no explanation as to why people keep falling dead around you?"

"Charisma," said Lakota.

As the Executor let out an annoyed sigh, Liara straightened up in her chair. The scientist had changed into her standard green and white jumpsuit which was normally very comfortable, but while in the same space as the Spectre and C-Sec officer, it felt constrictive.

"One of those now deceased humans tried to assassinate Councilor Anderson, but you prevented it." A hint of surprise was woven into the tenor and volume of Pallin's statement.

Lakota flashed one of her most charming smiles. "I also have impeccable timing."

"Death should not provoke levity, Spectre," Pallin said harshly. He placed both his hands on his desk as if fortifying his statement with his rigid body posture.

"One of my failings." Lakota uncrossed her legs while the fingers of her right hand gently rubbed the bruised and lacerated knuckles of her left. "I find levity were it doesn't belong."

"But do you have a theory as to why someone would want the human Councilor dead?"

Pallin looked a Lakota with eyes that had seen everything. Nothing impressed him, nothing shocked him, nothing excited him. And it was not just what he'd seen- his eyes held the history of a species who for millennia had seen everything, and been shocked by nothing- unimpressed, unexcited, unflinching, tired, permanent, and implacable. Throughout the questioning, the Executor had been on his best behavior. He had treated both Liara and Lakota with a fair amount of respect – more respect than the Spectre thought he was capable of giving. She assumed this had to do with the fact that she'd caught the perpetrator of the assassination attempt. It also helped that Liara's story had substantiated hers. Pallin was a hard-nosed turian bureaucrat, but he was an honest bureaucrat and wouldn't fabricate lies or bury the truth in order to make the Spectre look bad. In his perspective, all he had to do was give Lakota enough rope, and she would eventually hang herself with it.

Lakota still didn't know who hired Finch, so she wasn't exactly sure who or what she was up against. With this in mind and knowing that the Executor's personality didn't fit the profile of someone who would hire an assassin, she decided to tell Pallin a little of what she knew.

"There's something being covered up. And it is somehow tied to Tomas Finch." She didn't trust him enough to tell him much though.

"That's truly enlightening," Pallin said sarcastically.

"You asked."

The turian turned his gaze to Liara, who had been sitting quietly, watching the exchange. "Dr. T'Soni, would you agree that this Spectre is reckless and has endangered the lives of many innocents in order to play hero?"

"If I agreed with you, Executor," said Liara, "then we'd both be fools."

Lakota smiled impishly.

Frowning, the turian returned his gaze to Lakota. "I suppose you will continue to bumble around in this mess and there is nothing I can say that will deter you."

"This is not a professional matter, Executor. It is personal." The Spectre's pale green eyes burned with a focused intensity. "And it is my intention to keep looking into who wanted Anderson dead."

"I've known you long enough to get an idea of who you are, Spectre," Pallin said, "and I still don't like you."

"That pains me greatly."

The Chief of C-Sec ignored the flippant remark. "You are a stubborn human and you don't give a fuck about how things are supposed to go."

Lakota said nothing, but nodded her head in agreement.

"And you're not as smart as you think you are, and nowhere near as funny." Pallin sighed heavily again as though the next words were painful to speak. "But this time, as you humans say, you're on the right side of the fence."

"Oh? How do you know it's the right side?"

Liara turned her gaze to the floor as she shook her head and chuckled to herself.

Pallin smiled without humor. "As I told you once before, Spectre… because it is the same side I am on."

"Just making sure."

**########################**

"I cannot believe he let us go so easily," said Liara. She and Lakota were walking through the Presidium heading toward an Avina terminal to hail a cab. In human terms, it was almost midnight and darkness had fallen in the artificially controlled environment. Incandescent light fixtures illuminated the path along the open-air walkway bathing the outdoor area in a serene amber hue.

A deep voice sounded out behind them. "Neither can I."

"Wrex!" said Lakota.

"Shepard." The krogan fell into tempo with the couple, but two paces behind.

Liara turned her head toward the battlemaster. "Hello, Wrex."

"Liara."

"Well," said Lakota as she wrapped her right arm around Liara's waist, "we did save the life of a Council member. If he tried to lock us up, there would be hell to pay."

"I think he did it be because he doesn't like you," said Wrex.

Liara raised one eyebrow in curiosity. "Oh? That is a new theory."

"He's hoping she'll do something stupid, so he can lock her up."

"Hah," snorted the Spectre. "I do ten stupid things a day."

"At least," deadpanned Liara.

Grinning mischievously, Lakota said, "There you have it… more than ten!"

Wrex grunted. "Guess you'll make it easy for him then."

As Lakota chuckled, her stomach growled. "I didn't get a chance to eat at the banquet or afterward. Either of you care to go out? Get some dinner?"

"Tonight?" said Liara. "Now?"

"Well, with our luck, tomorrow we'll be involved in another crisis." Lakota raised both of her arms out wide in a 'V' shape, stretching her torso as she walked. When she was done, both arms fell loosely to her side, but her right hand clasped her left and gently rubbed the palm. "You know, on Earth we have a saying- 'Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die!'"

Liara shook her head. "Humans can be a very depressing people."

Wrex scoffed loudily. "For a krogan that is a life philosophy. I have a newfound respect for you, Shepard."

Lakota turned and grinned at the krogan, then she quietly whispered to Liara, "We're only depressed if we get turned down for dinner."

As they walked, Liara wrapped her arm through Lakota's. "Well," said the asari, "we cannot have that, now can we?"

"When you two are done being cute," said Wrex, "let's go eat."

**########################**

Wrex, Liara and Lakota had a late dinner at _Indigo_, an asari owned restaurant which served bona fide asari meals. Their server was a salarian male who quickly seated them, promptly supplied them with menus and then expeditiously produced their drink orders. After they ordered their meals, he swiftly collected the menus and then he rushed off to another table.

"How did you know the reflection was from a sniper scope?" said Liara. She took a sip of her asari wine and looked over at her lover, who was sitting on her right side.

Lakota smiled softly. "Well, I already had a feeling there was going to be trouble. When I saw the flash I had an idea that it was a gun, where it was pointed, and I reacted." The Spectre saw Liara's quizzical gaze and shrugged her shoulders. "Sniper training and a little bit of instinct. I figured if it was nothing, the worst that would happen is I'm embarrassed as hell. But if it was someone with a gun and I did nothing, then someone's dead."

"Finch didn't expect you to chase him," said Wrex. He took a long draw from his mug of ryncol.

Lakota's right hand hovered next to her glass of wine- her forefinger slowly tracing its circular opening. She, too, had decided to try the house wine – the same asari wine that Liara was drinking. "I don't think he expected to miss. I don't think he expected anyone to be able to get through the maintenance door. We wouldn't have without the fake badge. And I _know_ he didn't plan on Liara."

Lakota proceeded to tell Wrex about the evening's events – the banquet, the chase through the maintenance corridor, the fight and Finch's biotic display.

"And he just fell over?" asked Wrex.

"Yep," said Lakota. "Plop."

Liara brows furrowed slightly as though in deep thought. "I have never seen anyone wield such biotic force. Even on Thessia, that energy output would have been beyond measure. It was astounding."

"If I had to guess," said Lakota, "it was also what killed him. His complexion, his body language, his actions before he died… they all had the earmarks of a heart attack."

Liara nodded her head in agreement. "Rule number one in thermodynamics - energy input equals energy output, and rule number two- you cannot achieve 100% energy efficiency_. _Though energy is conserved, some energy always goes into energy that is not useful."

Lakota looked over at Wrex. "I love it when she gets all scientific."

Wrex ignored the Spectre. "That's known as the law of entropy, with entropy describing the degradation of energy to perform work."

Lakota narrowed her eyes at the krogan. "But when you do it… it's unsettling."

"Exactly, Wrex!" Liara's eyes lit up with excitement as she explained more about the subject matter. "The entropy of the universe as a whole can never decrease, but the entropy of a particular system can increase, provided there is a corresponding decrease in one or more other systems. A rock will fall if you lift it up and then let go. Hot frying pans cool down when taken off the stove. Ice cubes melt in a warm room. In each of those processes, energy of some kind is changing from being localized to becoming more spread out."

"So that's what happened to Finch?" said Lakota. "He was squashed by the second law of thermodynamics?"

Wrex took a drink then said, "More like sucked dry."

At that moment, the salarian server returned to the table with each of their meals. Liara had ordered an entrée with thick, dark purple noodles that were covered in a white cream sauce. With Liara's help translating, Lakota too had order a noodle entrée, but hers resembled rice noodles covered in peanut sauce. Wrex's dinner consisted of a prime cut of meat with a second pint of ryncol.

"It's been one hell of a day," said Lakota before taking a bite of noodles.

"Yes," agreed Liara. "A hell of a day."

Enjoying the spicy sweet flavor of her food, Lakota nodded her head and then added, "And a hell of a week."

Winking at her lover, Liara countered, "A hell of a year, too."

"Hell of a life," said Wrex.

Liara looked at the krogan. "You win."

The three of them ate their dinner in silence, content to savor the unplanned moment of quiet simplicity and decadence of their meal. As she ate, Lakota took the time to luxuriate in the sedate atmosphere of the restaurant and stole a few covert moments to gaze at her lover. Liara noticed the attention and flashed a coy smile in the Spectre's direction. The scientist's blue eyes were lively and inviting and to Lakota, there was something about her that whispered inaudibly of silk sheets and lace negligees, some unarticulated hint of passion motionless beneath the flawless tranquility of her appearance. Lakota sat perfectly still and inhaled it, admired it, contemplated the clear, unexpressed certainty that exotic carnal excess was hers for the asking.

They both knew the moment and understood it. When green eyes met blue a silent knowing passed between them, and the Spectre smiled serenely and nodded. "_Later"_ their eyes had said.

Lakota was the first to finish with her meal. After taking a sip of wine, she turned to Wrex and asked, "Did you have any trouble following Lysandra?"

Wrex looked at Lakota as if she had spoken in tongues.

"Sorry," said the Spectre, "I'll rephrase. Anything interesting happen while you followed Lysandra?"

"No," said Wrex. "After the banquet, she and her commandos returned to the Embassy suite. They've been there all night."

Lakota turned to Liara, who had a perplexed look on her face, and elaborated. "Before the banquet, I asked Wrex to watch Lysandra. I don't want her leaving the Citadel before we've had a chance to speak with her again."

"So who is watching her now?" asked Liara.

"Garrus," said Wrex.

"He'll let us know if she makes any moves to depart." Lakota shook her head ruefully. "The last thing I want to do is track another individual across the blasted galaxy."

Liara noticed the scowl and pouty lips on her lover's face. Playfully, she teased, "Leave it to you, Shepard, to try and take all the fun out of life. I mean, come on, where is your sense of mystery, of adventure?"

"Are you trying to cheer me up?"

"No, Commander!" said Liara with a smirk on her lips. "I would not dream of it."

"Good! I hate being cheered up. It's…depressing."

"In that case, Shepard," said Wrex, "you should know that we're all going to die horrible, painful, lingering deaths."

"Thank you, Wrex. I feel _so_ much better now." Lakota chuckled in wry amusement. "All I need now is to be charged with some sort of outlandish allegation to make my day complete."

Liara leaned forward with her elbows on the table and her fingers laced together. "Remember, I could always bring you up on sexual harassment charges, Commander."

"I could counter the charge with xenophobic insensitivity," added Wrex.

"Yes," said Liara. "That would be appropriate. Then we could join forces against our common oppressor."

They both turned their gaze toward the Spectre.

"The human," said Lakota.

**########################**

Lying on the bed, nestled in each other's arms, Lakota and Liara enjoyed the peaceful aftermath of their joining. A soft, blue hue, emanating from the monitor on the desk, faintly bathed the captain's quarters in an ethereal aura and allowed for their naked forms to be highlighted in an enchanting cerulean luminance. Their rhythmic breathing matched the quiet mood that had settled between them and neither moved for fear of disrupting the serenity. Even the hum of the _Normandy's_ automated systems added to the tranquility of the darkened space and attempted to lull them into slumber.

Their lovemaking sprouted from the innocent, tender caresses of Liara's hands when they had first retired to the Commander's quarters for sleep. Although exhausted from the long day and strenuous events, their longing and insatiable desire for each other overrode all obstacles, and as is the case with new romances, their wills found a way to the blissful landscape of sensual pleasure. Slow and unhurried they had moved in harmony, immersing in the other – bringing delight and comfort and rapturous madness to their union. But their need also had an underlying fervid intensity woven within its core as though the day's events reminded them of the tenuous nature of life and through their passionate actions they sought to reaffirm their existence and their connection to each other.

Groaning softly in protest to moving, Liara languidly rolled over to lie along Lakota's left side. Wrapping her arms tightly around her human lover, she snuggled into the luxurious warmth of the silken, supple body and burrowed her face into the crook of Lakota's neck. She inhaled deeply and a smile played upon her lips as she basked in the familiar intimacy of the Commander's unique scent- a sensual blend of the soothing, spicy aroma of sandalwood and the earthy, sweet fragrance of sage. Breathing in her lover's untamed scent was a heady experience of visceral seduction, like being showered in a warm, spring-filled rain. Fighting the tendrils of sleep marshalling to slip her consciousness into the delicate folds of the dreamweave, she intertwined her left leg between Lakota's and nestled further onto her lover's bare form.

"Sometimes," murmured Liara, "I try and picture you sitting on a beach with absolutely nothing to do."

"And?"

"And, the picture always ends with your head imploding."

Lakota smiled in the darkness. Instinctively she tightened her left arm around the lithe body enveloping her, and let her right hand trace a leisurely, nondescript path over the scientist's sensual curves and smooth skin. "That sounds about right."

Applying a feline-like stretch to her being, Liara shifted her body so she was lying fully astride Lakota with her chin resting on the commander's chest. Although inches away, Liara was scarcely able to distinguish the silhouetted contours of her lover's face.

"Something is bothering you, Shepard. What is it?"

"I need to ask you to do something I don't want to ask you to do." Lakota's left hand settled at the base of her lover's spine while her right slowly caressed the full-length of her back.

"If it is about me wearing those little... I appreciate the gift and I did not say I would not wear them, I just said that... for me, from an asari perspective, I thought that it looked silly."

The Spectre chuckled faintly. "No, it's not anything to do with that."

Liara sighed, her chin becoming heavier on her lover's chest. "Business then?"

Lakota's right hand travelled across Liara's shoulder and reverently caressed her cheek. She leaned forward until their foreheads touched and held herself still, taking in her lover's familiar weight, ambrosial floral scent and supple softness. The passage of time was beyond their notice. The human and asari stayed statuesque, listening to the hum of the _Normandy_, feeling the soothing warmth of their close proximity.

With subtle regret, Lakota broke the silence. "I need you to check with your contacts on Thessia, find out everything and anything you can on Lysandra. Where she's from, who she's worked for, who she works for now, how she got to be an emissary. All of it."

"Verify the hussy's background. Okay. That does not sound difficult."

"Well, I have a feeling that she's going to have her seedier tracks well covered." Lakota laid her head back on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling. "And I have a feeling that you'll need to use your contacts within the Thessian government to dig them up."

Liara tilted her head slightly. Although shadowed, she could see the pained look on her lover's face. "You are concerned that by looking into Lysandra, and the possibility that I may deal with the Matriarchy board, will bring up unpleasant memories or feeling about my mother."

Lakota closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. "Yes."

The room was silent while Liara contemplated her lover's words. "It may, but it needs to be done and I am the one who can do it. Plus," she said simply, "I am doing it for you."

Lakota's green eyes opened and shifted to meet Liara's. "Thank you."

Liara leaned in, her soft lips brushing tenderly upon her lover's. "But there is a price, Commander."

"Oh?" Lakota smiled at the thought of what price might be asked.

"Yes. You must see Doctor Chakwas about your injury."

Her voice filled with a questioning tone, Lakota repeated, "My injury?"

"Your left hand, Commander."

"My left-"

Liara's eyes narrowed in an accusatory frown. "Do not try to deny it. You have been favoring it every since your altercation with Finch."

The Spectre shook her head slightly. "You notice too much."

"You were not complaining about that ten minutes ago."

"Heh… true." Lakota sighed in amusement. "There isn't much chance of me winning this argument, is there Doctor?"

"None whatsoever, Commander. I never give up when I am right. Your only option is surrender."

_"_Who taught you to negotiate like that?"

"You did."  
><em><br>"_Oh," said Lakota. "You're a quick study, too."

"You have mentioned that before."

Liara slid over to her lover's right side, nestling her head on the inviting shoulder and wrapping her right arm around the smooth, toned stomach. In return, Lakota embraced the asari, holding her close, basking in feel of skin on skin contact and the inherent peacefulness their entwined forms engendered. It was a feeling the Spectre never took for granted because- until Liara- it was one that had been bereft from her life. Now she couldn't imagine her life without it.

"I'm going to see Chakwas tomorrow anyway," said Lakota. "The lab results on those items we found in Las Catacumbas are supposed to be in. Plus, Garrus was checking with his contacts in C-Sec about those shipping manifests and Tali has been working on a project for me. They both should have something to share."

"But what role does Udina have in this?" asked Liara. The question had nagged at her since she had heard out about the advisor's involvement. "Why did he go behind your back to get you engaged in finding Finch?"

"I don't know yet," said Lakota. "And what about the Reds? Are they really involved or did I assume their involvement because of Lysandra's intel?"

They were both silent, but Liara could feel the muscles in her lover's body tensing up as each second ticked by.

"And then there are the cryptic things Finch said… that I don't know who my true enemy is." Grumbling in frustration, Lakota said, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Liara's lips touched upon her lover's skin – a kiss of soothing comfort. "You will figure it out, Commander."

"How can you be so sure, Doctor?"

"You are a problem solver. You are one of these people who would pick up a rope that has gotten all tangled up and spend an entire day untangling it. Because it is a challenge, because it defies your sense of order in the universe - and because you can."

"That sums me up in a nutshell," said Lakota ruefully as she stifled a yawn.

"Yes, it does," teased Liara. "But for now, we should sleep, Commander. The answers to your questions will not be found tonight."

Nodding her head, Lakota took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, forcing her worn out body and exhausted muscles to relax. She shifted her focus from the chaotic questions to the soothing blue form wrapped within her embrace. Drinking in Liara's scent once again, she let the fragrance act as a reassuring blanket which subdued her concerns and quieted her mind. In response, Liara tightened her arm around her lover's torso, holding her close, enveloping her in lingering depths of enraptured adoration.

In the sedate moments before tumbling into the mesmerizing cloak of slumber, Liara's lips brushed upon Lakota's ear and softly murmured, "Sleep, my love. I will watch over you."

Next Chapter: The Clues


	12. The Clues

**Author's Note:**

It took me a few days to catch my breath after being hammered in the gut by ME3, so my "weekly" posting went belly up. *heavy sigh*

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12: The Clues<strong>

Lakota entered an activation code on the keypad and terminated the galaxy map which ended her diagnostic session of the _Normandy'_s navigation system. Although still early in the morning, this was the last of her routine ship inspections for the day. She had hustled through her list so she could get onto more pressing personal matters. Stepping off the viewing platform, she headed toward the stairwell leading to the lower habitation level. Private Tucks saluted her as she walked through the sliding doors and onto the stairs.

Lakota made her way down the winding staircase pausing momentarily when she reached the lower landing. This level held the medbay, crew pods, captain's quarters and the mess. She took a deep breath before entering the main chamber, and then headed over toward the sleeper pod control panel where Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko stood. Absentmindedly, she flexed left hand which had begun to throb.

"Lieutenant, what's the ship's status?" Kaidan had been under Shepard's command since before the hunt for Saren began. He had proven himself to be a good soldier and a good officer. Duty and protocol came first, but when all that was put to the side, Lakota considered him a good friend, as well.

"The upgrades are in process and fifty percent of our systems have been restored to full functionality. If repairs stay on schedule we should be fully prepped and ready for a shakedown run in two weeks time, Commander. "

"Excellent." Lakota handed him her datapad. "Here are the results of my inspections. Do me a favor and run through the engineering tabulations one more time before giving them back to Adams. I'd hate for the _Normandy_ to explode because of a typo. Garrus would never let me live it down."

"Will do, ma'am." He took the datapad from her, downloaded the reports with his omni-tool and then handed datapad back. "I'll let you know when I've finished."

Lakota nodded her head and turned to walk away, but before she had taken a step, Kaidan said, "Commander, if I may…"

The Spectre pivoted back around to face the biotic. "Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"I heard what happened on the Citadel- the assassination attempt on Anderson. It was a good thing you were there."

"Yeah, I wish we'd been able to bring Finch in alive. A lot of unanswered questions died with him."

The Lieutenant shook his head in dumbfounded bewilderment. "You've got some kind of luck, Commander. All this coming down a few weeks after Saren and Sovereign. It's gotta be some kind of record."

Lakota grinned whimsically. "Either the gods have an insidious sense of humor or this is my big chance to pay off karma at a vastly accelerated rate. Maybe both."

"Indeed, Commander," said Alenko. The bewildered looked continued as his right hand rubbed the back of his head. "I heard Udina was there, too."

"Yes, the adviser was his usual charming self," said Lakota sarcastically.

"I saw him on ANN last night. He only had good things to say about you."

"Udina knows how to play the media. He wasn't saying good things about me; he was saying good things about the first human Spectre. There's a difference. He is a true politician."

"So I take it he didn't thank you for saving his life."

"Not a word, but I didn't expect it," said Lakota. "It's hard to pull your foot out of your mouth when your head is up your ass."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Carry on, Lieutenant."

"Will do, Commander."

Lakota turned around and headed across the mess in the direction of the medbay. She was wearing what she considered her casual uniform- navy blue pants with an Alliance approved matching short sleeved shirt and comfortable black boots. She slowed briefly to allow the medbay doors time to open, and then stepped through the threshold.

Doctor Karin Chakwas stood with her back toward the door, engrossed in the holographic images being displayed above her desktop. Without turning around, she said, "Please remove your clothing."

"Not without dinner and drinks," Lakota quipped.

"What?" Doctor Chakwas turned quickly. "Oh…my apologies, Commander. I was expecting Ensign Calibri."

"Damn. Does this mean the drinks are off the table now?"

"While I am fond of dashing and heroic actions, your theatrics would be more than I could handle, Commander."

"I doubt that, Doc."

While continuing to mull over the holographic image, Chakwas glibly remarked, "Commander, you are the only person I know who has run over a thresher maw with the Mako. Twice. Plus, you have a remarkable knack for keeping me busy. Three visits within two weeks is rather noteworthy. The first was after that altercation with Saren. You were fortunate to only suffer a dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs and some lacerations. Then there was the explosion a few days ago and now you've returned to me once again. I am assuming it has something to do with the uproar last night at the Embassy."

"Nah," said Lakota, "I just missed you, Doc."

"If that were truly the case, Commander," said Chakwas, "you could have messaged me."

"And forego this engaging dialogue?" said Lakota. "Never."

"Yes, I got that warm fuzzy feeling when you had Lieutenant Alenko cancel your checkup yesterday." Chakwas turned away from the holographic readout and looked directly at Lakota. "If we weren't short-staffed because of shore leave, I would have sent someone to escort you here for your appointment."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, Commander. I believe Dr. T'Soni would have enough… _influence_ to get you here."

Lakota shook her head and grinned. "You play dirty, Doc."

"Just keep that in mind when I schedule your next appointment, Commander."

"Yes, ma'am."

Chakwas swiveled her chair around to face Lakota and then leaned back with both hands resting on her lap. "So what shall I be patching up this time, Commander?"

As Lakota walked over toward the medbed, she raised her left hand and pointed at it with her right forefinger.

The doctor stood and met the Spectre as she hopped up on the diagnostic table. The older woman passed her medical scanner- which looked similar to an omni-tool- over Lakota's left hand and then tapped some buttons to enhance the visual resolution.

"You have hairline fractures at the neck of the fourth and fifth metacarpal bones. In layman's terms- those are the bones between the wrist and knuckle on your ring and small finger." Chakwas looked up from the readout on the scanner. "This is also known as a boxer's fracture and if I had to guess, I'd say you were recently in a fist fight."

Lakota shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. A game had sprung up between the two women soon after Lakota took command of the _Normandy-_ when Lakota showed up with an injury, the medical doctor speculated on how it was acquired. The doctor was right more often than she was wrong and the commander usually ended up owing her a bottle of brandy.

Chakwas passed the scanner over the Spectre's other hand. "Your right hand shows no signs of bone damage, but judging from the abrasions on both hands, I'd say it was an extending bout. And by the gleam in your eye, I'd say you came out of that scuffle as the victor. How am I doing so far?"

"I think 'annoyingly logical' is a good description."

"Thank you, Commander."

"That wasn't a compliment," teased Lakota.

Chakwas' shoulders shook slightly as she chuckled. "The best treatment for this type of injury is immobilizing it in a splint until pain and swelling subsides. Roughly three to five days followed by active mobilization." The older woman looked up from the scanner and smiled empathetically. "I can give you something for the pain… "

"Nah, I'm okay," said Lakota. "If it gets too bad, I'll just gnaw it off at the elbow."

"If I didn't know you better, I might think you were joking. As it stands, I've seen you here far too often for my tastes. May I suggest that next time you either duck for cover or move more swiftly?"

"You may."

"And perhaps waiting for some backup before you plunge headlong into the field of battle would be wise."

"Now you're just being silly, Doc."

Chakwas raised a challenging eyebrow. "No more than you, Commander."

"I'm a Spectre," said Lakota playfully. "Silly things is what I do- just ask the Council. It's become a living."

"Not a very healthy one, Commander."

Over the last few months, the Alliance doctor and _Normandy's_ commander had forged a relationship that evolved from professional colleagues to trusted friends. The hunt for Saren had produced an ideal backdrop for each of them to casually assess the other's skill and prowess, either in the medical bay or field of battle. Through a series of unrelated events- various injuries, Liara being assigned a space in the med lab, and bonding over cognac and brandy, their mutual admiration had been given the attention needed to sprout and flourish into a full-fledged friendship. Their affection for each other was evident in their easy-going camaraderie and respectful interplay.

The doctor walked over toward her medical supply drawer. "I saw Advisor Udina on ANN last night. He seemed to make a very big spectacle about the first human Spectre coming to the Council's rescue."

Lakota rolled her eyes in annoyance. "He's using last night to gain some political leverage for humanity's cause. He is such a tool."

After opening a drawer, Chakwas pulled out a roll of flex-wrap and then walked back over to the medbed. "I've never met the man, but I've heard Anderson speak of him."

"Consider yourself lucky, Doc." As she held out her left hand toward the doctor, Lakota let out a frustrated sigh. "I've tried to get along with Udina, but he's an ass."

"If at first you don't succeed, Commander, then you try again." The older woman finished wrapping the injured hand and then looked up at Lakota with a hard, focused expression. "When that fails, then you quit. No use being a fool about it."

Lakota nodded her head in agreement. "For me," she said, "one of the hardest things to learn after becoming a Spectre was which bridge to burn and which bridge to cross. But with Udina, I just burn them all."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Because I'm so predictable?"

"Predictably obstinate," parried the doctor. Then she picked up her medical tablet from the med bed and began to edit the Spectre's file.

The doors to the medbay swooshed open immediately followed by Garrus and Tali walking into the room.

Having caught the last part of the conversation, Garrus said, "Obstinate is a good word to describe you, Shepard."

"Coming from you, Garrus, that's almost a compliment."

"You know me, Shepard. I've always got your back."

"Where were you last night then?" teased Lakota.

"Except when I have plans."

"You're such an ass, Vakarian."

The turian crossed his arms in front of his chest and shot back, "Coming from you, Shepard, that's ALMOST a compliment."

Ignoring the playful banter, Chakwas finished adding her notes to the tablet and looked up at the younger woman. "All done, Commander."

Lakota quickly tested out the range of motion on her newly bandaged left hand and then met the older woman's gaze. "I hope you don't mind, Doc, but a few minutes you medbay is going to get busier."

As if on cue, Liara walked into the room. Her gaze caught Lakota's and they shared an affectionate, but silent greeting.

"I hope I am not late," said the asari.

"Nope," said Lakota as she hopped down from the med bed, "you are right on time."

Chakwas returned to her desk and began manually inputting some extra notations to the commander's medical file which had been automatically updated over the ship's wireless network. The other four gathered near her forming a semi-circle around the medical doctor's desk.

Tali settled in to the right of the doctor. She held a small metallic box in her hands, but had remained silent since entering the room.

Garrus, who was outfitted in his prized Predator X armor, stood directly behind the medical doctor. "I checked with my contacts at C-Sec," said the turian. "The asari emissary, Lysandra, signed off on the shipments that you found."

"Which one?" Lakota asked. "The Cerberus crate or the one with the Khieni Corporation label?" The commander was in a casual pose – leaning upon the outer wall just to the left of the desk with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Both," said Garrus.

Liara stood between Garrus and Lakota. She was dressed in her normal daily attire - a white and green jumpsuit which Lakota thought flattered her figure perfectly. As she keyed something into her datapad, the researcher said, "And according to those I know in the asari embassy, Lysandra is a board member of the Khieni Corporation. It is an asari company that manufactures spices, herbs, and flavorings for retail, commercial, and industrial markets."

"Which makes my analysis and discovery much more illuminating," said Chakwas as she turned in her chair to face the group. "The bags of 'Red Sand' you gave me, Commander, weren't actually Red Sand at all. They were a mixture of Red Sand and the blue substance you found which is called 'tiffen'."

"Tiffen?" said Liara. "But that is nothing more than a small seed from a plant readily found on most asari worlds. The seed is dried, ground up and brewed with water to create a beverage that is similar to Earth's coffee..." With a curious frown, Liara's fingers began to tap at her datapad.

"Yes. And tiffen, like coffee, is a source of caffeine, but at twenty times the potency. An asari's metabolic system is immune to the effects caffeine, but in humans caffeine acts as a stimulant which targets a person's metabolism and central nervous system."

As satisfaction flashed across her face, Liara looked up from her datapad. "And it is a product that the Khieni Corporation legally exports."

"So… what?" asked Lakota. "Put those two together and you have a super high, super alert person?"

"It's more than that, Commander." Chakwas settled back in her chair, placing her elbows on its arms and clasping her hands in front of her. "In the proper dose, caffeine reduces physical fatigue, restores alertness by producing an increased wakefulness, faster and clearer flow of thought, increased focus, and better general body coordination."

A perplexed looked crossed the Lakota's face. "And in improper doses?"

"Then you can expect dependency with a wide range of unpleasant physical and mental conditions including nervousness, irritability, restlessness, insomnia, headaches, and heart palpitations. Extremely high doses may even trigger anxiety and episodes of mania and psychosis."

Liara frowned momentarily as if deep in thought. "From what we saw of Finch, I would say he was under the influence of such an episode."

"Not surprising," Chakwas said. "In the autopsy report that arrived this morning, those levels were fifty times what would be considered normal. From the preliminary tests, I believe the human body has a reduced ability to metabolize tiffen which would allow the compound to stay active for longer and have a more potent effect on it subject. I need to run some more tests before I can confirm my suspicions though."

Liara was quickly following Chakwas' tram of thought. "And when combined with Red Sand, another stimulant laced with biotic properties…"

Chakwas nodded her head. "Two potent stimulants acting together. One devised to enhance biotic abilities and the other to heighten physical and mental processes. Both highly addictive."

"Wait," said Lakota, "autopsy report?"

"Courtesy of Mr. Vakarian," said Chakwas.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Garrus said, "I still have some favors owed to me within C-Sec."

Lakota nodded in thanks and then asked, "So how did Finch die, Doc?"

"It is as you suspected, Commander, a massive heart attack caused by severe blood vessel constriction. The altered Red Sand narrowed all the blood vessels of the body including his coronary arteries that supply blood to the heart. This narrowing caused a loss of blood supply to the heart muscle which would have manifested as acute chest pain and then sudden death. It's not a common symptom of untainted Red Sand, but when you factor in the affects of tiffen…"

"Yeah," said Lakota, "and from what I saw, it is now available in a liquefied version."

"Which would make its absorption into the body's organs and tissue more immediate and more toxic." Chakwas shook her head in disgust. "Such a waste."

Tali shuddered. "That would be like amping the FTL drive with another dose of eezo – you would go really fast, but the extra static electrical buildup would put such a strain on the engine that it would eventually backfire into the ship's hull. The heat would fry everything inside."

"Lousy way to die," said Garrus.

Lakota tilted her head in contemplation. "Last time I checked, there weren't too many good ways."

Nodding his head, the turian conceded, "Good point."

A puzzled look flashed upon the Spectre's face before she said, "Wrex and I didn't find any Red Sand in Las Catacumbas though. No one was selling it, no one was buying it."

"On the contrary, Commander," said Chakwas, "you and Wrex found a whole crate of it." The medical doctor reached over to a small glass vial that was on her desk. It housed one of the pink "packing peanuts" that Lakota and Wrex had found while roaming in Las Catacumbas. "This is a crystallized form of the drug."

Liara held out her hand and Chakwas gave her the vial. While she examined the small object the researcher said, "Someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to alter the molecular structure of the drug, but with enough thermodynamic and kinetic factors, I am sure they would be able to return it to its original state."

"I bet its new form would get it passed the C-Sec scanners," Garrus said.

"Yes, that would make sense. Molecular structure is like DNA. Change it, change your identity." Lakota thought back to what she and Wrex found while in the underbelly of the Citadel. "It also explains why we found a sand lab in the middle of Las Catacumbas. They weren't prepping Red Sand though; they were mixing this new concoction together."

"What does Cerberus want with a drug that kills its victims?" asked Tali.

"They want what they have always wanted," said Liara matter-of-factly, "– a super-soldier." All eyes focused on her as she further explained her theory. "In all of their experiments that we've encountered - the rachni, the thorian creepers, the husks … Cerberus was focused on one thing- creating a superior soldier. An enhanced infantry unit capable of doing massive amount of damage, but being easily expendable and easily replaced."

"Liara's right," said Lakota. "This would fall right in line with Cerberus' goals. Give someone an addictive drug, amp them out of their mind, and ignore the piles of dead bodies that follow." A steely glint flashed in Lakota's eyes and a cold, imposing inflection sounded from her voice. "They have no regard for life- human or alien. They've proven it time and time again. And on Akuze they showed just how far the depth thier depravity is able to sink."

Silence filled the room. Everyone knew Lakota's past on Akuze and knew she harbored intense feelings about the massacre, so they remained quiet out of respect but also out of a sense of awkwardness. They all had compassion for what the commander lived through, but none of them could relate to such devastation.

Before the moment became uncomfortably, Liara broke the group's silence. "The drug would also explain Finch's heightened biotic ability and his superior stamina."

"And," added Lakota, "because he was already a Red Sand addict, he'd be the perfect guinea pig for Cerberus."

Garrus started to pace the room. "So Lysandra is working for Cerberus?"

Shaking her head, Lakota said, "I don't know. She could just be a middle-man in this whole thing. Cerberus doesn't usually play nice with anyone other than humans... and that only hinges on whether or not they are deemed useful."

The turian stopped pacing and looked directly at the Spectre. "What about the connections to the Tenth Street Reds?"

"Honestly," said Lakota, "I don't even know if they are involved. Finch said he was done with them and I believed him."

"The hussy was the only one who implicated them directly." Liara had returned to tapping on her datapad.

"Hussy?" questioned Tali.

"Long story," said Lakota.

Liara looked up from her work. "Not that long, Commander."

As Lakota closed her eyes, her right hand covered her face and then she mumbled in mock-exasperation, "Too long, Doctor."

Garrus leaned over toward Tali and whispered loudly so the whole room could hear. "Lysandra made a pass at Shepard during the party last night."

"GARRUS!" warned Lakota.

"WHAT?" sniggered Tali. "How did you find THAT out?"

"TALI!" yelled Lakota, this time sounding truly exasperated.

"I told you, I still have contacts in C-Sec," chuckled Garrus. "They saw the whole thing and then just happened to tell me about it."

Lakota rolled her eyes dramatically and pushed off from the wall as if her rigid posture would put a halt to the conversation.

"See, Commander" said Liara, playfully, "I told you it would not take long."

Lakota's head sank to her chest and she grumbled ruefully. "Oh, for the love of all that's blue…"

Seeking to help her friend, Chakwas asked, "So what is your next move, Commander?"

Grateful for the change of subject matter, Lakota looked up to address the group. "It's time to confront, Lysandra. Wrex has been watching her all morning and she hasn't made a move."

"Then you'll want this, Shepard." Tali took a step forward and handed Lakota the box that she'd been holding. "As you requested, the transmitter has an oscillating frequency that is matched by the tracking device. They each have the same encrypted firmware that allows them to synchronize their pattern of oscillation which changes every .03 to .05 seconds. Because of their randomly changing transmit and receive frequency, no security system that I know of will be able to lock onto their signal. Once you place the sensor on your target, you'll have a range of roughly eight kilometers before the signal starts to degrade."

"Thanks, Tali. I owe you."

"No," said the young quarian, "you don't, Shepard. You helped me out before, in a way that I can never fully repay. Not that you've asked…you haven't. I didn't mean to imply that you might have…because that's not like you. You've never asked for anything in return… Keelah… I am just happy to be able to return the favor." A few months prior, Lakota had given Tali a copy of data detailing the early days of the geth. It was a rare gift that the quarian planned to give to the Flotilla when she returned from her Pilgrimage. "Let me help you now. I'll go with you when you confront this asari...um... hussy."

Lakota smiled affectionately at the rambling quarian. "Thank you again, Tali, but when I go to talk with Lysandra, the less people with me, the less the likelihood of there being any trouble. Plus, this tracking device is what I really needed." Before Garrus could say anything, Lakota turned to him and said, "And that goes for you, too, Garrus. I'm grateful for the information you were able to dig up, but for now, that's all the help I need."

"Okay, Shepard," said Tali. "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

Garrus nodded his head. "And me, too."

"Thanks. To the both of you."

After the quarian and turian left the medical bay, Lakota turned to Liara who had been unusually quiet. She was standing next to Dr. Chakwas, who was quietly but efficiently reviewing the crew's medical files.

"Do you think that argument will work on me, Commander?" asked the asari.

"Um… yes?"

"Then you will need to learn to live with disappointment."

Lakota laughed out loud at her lover's brazenness.

"I will be accompanying you when you visit Lysandra. If for nothing else than to verify her diplomas with my own eyes."

"Of course, Doctor." As a master strategist, Lakota knew it would be futile to argue with Liara on this point. Every now and again, the asari exhibited a surprisingly stubborn streak – as tenacious as a krogan, and she was displaying that characteristic now.

"Let me know when you are ready to go," said Liara. "I have a few things to finish up in the lab." She smiled softly and then turned around and headed through the doors into the med lab. The glass vial with the crystallized Red Sand was still in her hand.

Lakota stood in the middle of the room and watched her lover's retreat. She breathed in deeply and then exhaled as though attempting to release pent up tension. What had started out as a simple task of tracking someone down had turned into abduction, murder, a few attempted murders, an assassination attempt, drug trafficking and Cerberus. "Alenko is right," mumbled Lakota. "It's gotta be some kind of record."

"Commander," said Chakwas, "may have a moment of your time?"

The older woman had been so quiet, that Lakota had almost forgotten she was still in the room. The Specter pivoted around and replied, "Absolutely, Doc. What's on your mind?"

"You, Commander."

"Me?"

"Yes. It seems the current events that have been stirred up are also stirring up your past."

Although they were friends, the commander had always avoided talking about her past with the doctor. It wasn't something she was comfortable discussing with most people and currently only Liara was privy to her true feelings on the subject matter. So even while engaged in conversation with the older woman, Lakota usually steered clear of talks involving her life before the Alliance and also her experience on Akuze, but there were times when their dialogue flirted on the edge of those boundary lines.

Lakota remained silent to see which way the medical doctor led the conversation.

As she gazed upon the younger woman who had gone through so much tragedy, a look of concerned formed on Chakwas' face. After hesitating a moment, she said, "You seem to be more on edge than usual, Commander… If you ever feel like talking or sharing a glass of cognac…"

"Thank you, Doc. I appreciate the concern and the offer, but I have my past under control."

Lakota turned around and headed toward the doors which lead to the mess. Just before she reached them she heard the older women reply which halted her step.

"I wouldn't presume to tell you what to do with your past, Commander," said Chakwas. "Just know that there are those of us who care about what you do with your future."

Lakota stood stationary for a moment as if letting the words sink in, and then she stepped forward and through the open doors.

Next up: The Asari Emissary


	13. The Asari Emissary

**Author's Note:**

Anyone else find ME3 Multiplayer a bit addictive? *grin*

Thanks for continuing to follow this story! And thank you for reading and reviewing; your feedback is most appreciated!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13: The Asari Emissary<strong>

The captain's quarters were brightly lit as Lakota sat at her deck reassembling her sniper rifle, _Styx._ Whether stemming from superstition or general fondness for the tools which had saved her life more than once, she'd always had a flamboyant way of naming the rifles and daggers she carried with her on missions. Currently, _Styx_, a HMWSR master line sniper rifle was her constant companion. She named the deadly weapon after a river in old Greek mythology that formed the boundary between Earth and the underworld. From Lakota's point of view, her sniper rifle was the veritable embodiment of that inauspicious line separating life and the afterlife.

The commander wanted to be fully prepared for any possibility before she confronted Lysandra, so she took the time to both clean the rifle and add the upgrades that had been delivered earlier in the week– a new frictionless barrel and kinetic coil which would improve her ability for extreme distance targeting and overall damage. She wasn't expecting trouble with the asari emissary, but the old earth adage – "better safe than sorry"- had kept her alive more times than she wanted to remember. When working on her equipment, Lakota preferred the seclusion of her cabin where there was less likelihood to be interrupted and also on a more personal note, this type of methodical task was a form of mediation for the commander. She was able to lose herself in the activity and the precision process of the work, oftentimes discovering that hours had passed in what felt like minutes as though she experienced a time warp while immersed in her venture.

Lakota had just finished piecing the rifle together and had begun to calibrate the scope when the doors to her cabin swooshed opened and Liara hurried in. "Shepard," she said, "we need to talk."

"Liara?" Lakota rotated her chair around to face the asari and noticed the pained expression on her lover's face. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Liara's eyes immediately fell to the floor as though unable to meet Lakota's gaze. "I have uncovered something… unusual about the Khieni Corporation. Something you need to know, but I did not want to discuss in front of the others."

The Spectre crossed her arms in front of her and leaned back into her chair getting comfortable for what she assumed would be an interesting conversation. "Sounds ominous."

Hesitantly, Liara said, "I…ah… it may be."

It was odd for the asari to avert her eyes while they were engaged in conversation and it was even more abnormal that she would falter in the midst of it. Liara's hesitancy made Lakota's approach more direct. "Okay, Doctor. You now have my undivided attention. What did you find?"

The researcher took a deep breath and then tentatively said, "The group that governs the Khieni Corporation is comprised of two individuals. As you know, Lysandra is one…"

Nodding her head, Lakota urged, "…and…"

"And the other individual is a human named Isabel Vasquez."

Shocked, Lakota exclaimed, "_WHAT_?"

"I know, Shepard. The name caught my attention, as well, so I did some further research and found out her full name – Isabel Graciela Olmos Vasquez. Mexico City, Earth is listed as her place of origin."

"But that's…" Lakota's voice trailed off as though dropped into a chasm with no end. "That's _impossible_. There is _no_ _way_ that could be true… It's got to be some kind of mistake!"

"I thought so, too, so I re-verified everything this morning after we met in the med bay."

Lakota sat up and swiveled her chair toward the desk. Although she appeared to be looking at _Styx_, her unfocused eyes actually saw nothing that was in front of her. Chaotic thoughts raced out of control and as she tried to comprehend the information that she was just given, her eyebrows furrowed into a frown. "But that just can't be," she whispered in confusion.

Not knowing what to do or how to abate her lover's obvious disorientation, Liara stood at that corner of the desk and offered what support she could verbally. "I know, Shepard."

"_Do you_? Do you _really_?" Lakota abruptly stood and began to pace furiously between her deck and her bed. "I killed Isabel Graciela Olmos Vasquez before I joined the Alliance! Hell, that's the main reason I left Earth." With each word the Spectre's voice became more agitated. "Goddammit! Someone is trying to fuck with my life!" Still pacing, Lakota roughly ran her fingers through her hair in vehement aggravation, and then she turned suddenly to face Liara. "First with Finch and now with Grace!"

Liara nodded but stayed quiet. A few weeks prior, Lakota had shared with her the story of the domineering woman who guided the Spectre through her adolescence and so she knew her lover was thrown off balance by the unexpected name from her past being somehow tied recent events. She also knew the Spectre's mind was on fire with possibilities and probabilities and that her ability to process the information would benefit the most from supportive silence.

Lakota's gaze bore into Liara's as if searching for answers within the asari's deep blue eyes, but finding none she glanced back at her sniper rifle. Irritation radiated off the Spectre in waves and she muttered, "It's got to be some kind of mistake… or some kind of twisted ploy to get my attention." Lakota began her angry pacing once again while attempting to restrain the burning inferno that had been ignited when she first heard the name of her old Den mother. The woman who had gone by the name of Grace, who was the Tenth Street Reds' matriarch in Mexico City and who had handpicked Lakota to lead a squad of gang members. The woman who murdered Lakota's crew and then attempted to kill Lakota, as well. The woman Lakota hunted down and shot in both retribution and righteous vengeance. The woman whose name now taunted Lakota's present life like a festering wound. "What the hell is Lysandra up to?"

Taking deliberate, slow breaths, Lakota forced herself to speak. "I have no idea what is going on, but we are going to find out. Now. Grab your gear and meet me in the shuttle bay in thirty minutes. I'm going to finish calibrating this scope, and then we're going to meet up with Wrex." She stopped her pacing then took another deep breath as her left hand reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She closed her eyes, forced a calm composure, and mindfully exhaled. "Lysandra better have some damn good answers!"

**########################**

By the time Liara met up with her lover in the shuttle bay, Lakota had been able to shed her agitation and refocus her attention on the questions that remained unanswered. Throughout the whole process of finding Finch and now searching for the person or persons who had pulled his strings, Lakota's irritation had grown exponentially. The Spectre felt as though for every question that was answered, two more sprang up in its place and now with the name of her old Den mother being thrown into the mix, she was ready to see the game ended. She was done being diplomatic. She despised people scavenging around in her past and had a particular malice for anyone who attempted to use her past as a tool of manipulation.

The pair made their way quickly to the Presidium and over to the Embassy wing where they met up with Wrex who had been watching Lysandra's building. Other than some general traffic in and out of the establishment, little activity had taken place since the attempted assassination the night before. Once Lysandra had been released from C-Sec along with the rest of the party-goers, she had returned to her residence and stayed indoors.

Liara, who was now wearing her light Colossus armor, examined the secured facility in front of them and then turned to the Spectre. "Do you have a plan?"

"Let's try not to get killed," Lakota said.

"Although that outcome is desirable, I fail to see how that equates to a formulated strategy."

Lakota, who had geared up in her burgundy Mercenary X armor, looked to the krogan standing next to her. "You explain it to her, Wrex."

"When bullets start flying," the krogan advised, "duck."

Liara rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "That is very helpful. Now… how will we get in?" Unlike her two companions, the researcher preferred to have some sort of logical plan of action before entering into an unknown environment.

"Lysandra has no idea what we've uncovered about the Khieni Corporation and its ties to Cerberus," Lakota explained. "She'll let us in the front door just because she's curious."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Liara.

Smirking, Lakota said, "It's what I would do."

"Why is that not reassuring?" quipped the asari.

Wrex grunted in amusement. "Because you know Shepard is unbalanced. Plus, getting in will be easy; it's getting out that will be the fun part."

Taking a step toward the building, Lakota felt the comfortable weight in the sniper rifle shift slightly on her back, patted her holstered pistol reassuringly and then looked back to her companions. Smiling roguishly, she said, "You both ready?"

Shaking her head, Liara mumbled, "Why do humans always ask if someone is ready right before going to do something completely ill-advised?"

Lakota overheard her lover and said, "Same reason the asari say 'embrace eternity' before annihilating someone with a biotic strike. Tradition."

"Asari do not say that…"

Lakota flashed Liara a skeptically look.

"Well, I do not say that."

Lakota's eyes widened in amazement as her expression silently and playfully scoffed her lover's statement.

The asari huffed. "Not all of the time."

The three of them continued their trek toward the asari emissary's living quarters. Lakota flexed her gloved left hand which had begun to throb. Before suiting up in her armor, she had removed the wrap bandage that kept her hand immobilized and pain free. Regardless of discomfort, she wasn't going to show any weakness while confronting Lysandra. When they reached the top of the stairs, they were greeted by Lysandra's krogan guard – Kolrak. The entrance was located twenty feet behind the hulking figure who was still big, still angry looking and still carried a vicious shotgun in his hands.

The first time Lakota and Wrex visited Lysandra, the Spectre had noticed security cameras mounted near the entrance and assumed it was monitored by the asari emissary. With this in mind, she walked up to Kolrak, but instead of looking at him, she looked directly into the cameras. Amiably, she said, "We're here to see Lysandra."

The krogan guard's eyes narrowed as if debating whether to head-butt the Spectre or strike her with his shotgun. He did neither. Instead his right hand went to his ear as if he was listening to a comm device and then he turned toward the entrance. After he punched a few commands into his omni-tool, the door to the building swooshed open. Without a sound, Kolrak let the three of them into the building, but he followed a few steps behind.

Lakota glanced back over her shoulder at the stoic krogan guard escorting them into the suite. "I don't think Kolrak likes me."

Wrex looked at the Spectre, his facial expression unreadable. "Did he try to bite you on the way in?"

"No."

"Then," the krogan said, "he likes you."

"Maybe," Lakota said skeptically. She turned her head toward Liara and whispered, "See… she let us in the front door."

Rolling her eyes in wonderment, the asari said, "I want to be around the day you are wrong."

"Be careful what you wish for, Doctor, the day is young. Plus…," Lakota added, "have you ever noticed that bad decisions _always_ make the best stories… and that I _always_ have the best stories to tell."

"Thank you for the warning, Commander."

The Spectre was still smiling as they walked through the vaulted entry hall that went all the way back to the end of the complex. Just as before, Lysandra's office was at the end of the hallway where the corridor opened up to a large room with a tall ceiling and an outer wall composed entirely of glass looking out onto the damaged Presidium. The only difference Lakota immediately discerned was that instead of two asari commandos relaxing on the couch and chairs in the corner of the room, now there were four. Each was dressed in a standard suit of asari commando issue light armor. She noticed that the four pairs of eyes had locked onto her, Liara and Wrex the moment they stepped into the room, but they just watched and waited. Their interested gaze conflicted with the ease of the relaxed poses, but none of them made any unusual movements off of the couch or for their weapons.

Lysandra was sitting at her desk and looked up from her work when the three entered the room followed by Kolrak. She reached for the glass of wine which sat on her desk and then eased back into her chair- silently watching their progression into the efficient but trendy space. Once again, she was dressed to kill in a completely different way than the commandos on her payroll. Tight, red leather pants tucked into high, black boots and on top she wore a tight fitting black leather tank top. The sleek black material elegantly contrasted with the asari's skin tone making the rich blue hues darker than Lakota remembered.

Lysandra took as slow, methodical sip from her wine glass. "I should warn you- Kolrak is dying to throw you out." She smiled as if amused by the notion.

The krogan guard grunted in affirmation while readjusting the shotgun in his hands.

Lakota turned to Wrex and whispered, "Told you he didn't like me."

The Battlemaster shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

Looking back toward the asari emissary, Lakota said, "Why should Kolrak be different from any other?"

Lysandra nodded as though finally comprehending the answer to a complex question. "You are often unwelcome then." It was said as a statement of fact.

Smiling shrewdly, Lakota said, "I often bring bad news."

"That is usually… unwelcome." Lysandra took another lingering sip of her wine and after pausing to swallow, she placed the glass back upon her desk. "Did you come to bring me bad news, Spectre?"

"Not specifically," Lakota said. "I bring questions."

"And what sorts of questions would a Spectre, a Battlemaster and a…" Lysandra's gaze locked onto Liara's, "…_scientist_ have for me?"

The insult in Liara's direction didn't escape Lakota's notice; she just added it to the list of things to rectify. "Tell me about Isabel Graciela Olmos Vasquez."

Lysandra didn't flinch. She sat perfectly still and turned her head to meet Lakota's scrutinizing stare. "What do you wish to know?"

Lakota was impressed. There was no "Who is Isabel Graciela Olmos Vasquez." Lysandra had already understood that if the Spectre didn't know something she wouldn't be asking about her. Evasion would make it look worse, so the asari emissary did the best she could in a difficult circumstance.

"It's a pleasure to observe a keen intellect," said Lakota. "You've remained noncommittal and your question puts it back on me. The more I say, the more you'll know what I know."

Lysandra smiled to acknowledge the compliment. Nobody said anything for a moment, but the tension in the room was growing. The asari lounging on the couch were now actively watching the three visitors while Wrex and Liara positioned themselves to the left of Lakota so they had a view of the whole room and were no longer being flanked by Kolrak.

In contrast to the protective positioning, Lakota walked directly toward Lysandra and stood in front of the asari's desk. "My problem," she said, "is that I don't know what I wish to know."

Lysandra nodded, but remained quiet.

"So I will tell you what I _do_ know," Lakota said.

"When I started looking for Finch, I talked to a man named Mario Torres. He's dead now. I came to you for information on Finch, you mentioned the Tenth Street Reds and then pointed me to Las Catacumbas. I found Finch, but I also found a lot of people who tried- unsuccessfully - to kill me. Quite a few of them and their unlucky friends are now dead, as well. "

Lysandra cocked her head a little as if she were glad to hear that the Spectre hadn't died.

"Finch escaped, but I found him again and as you probably already know, now he's dead, too." Lakota paused momentarily to let the information sink in. "There is a noteworthy pattern if you read between the lines."

The asari emissary remained silent but her eyes widened slightly at the thinly veiled threat.

"I also know that you are one of two executives for the Khieni Corporation," Lakota continued. "Isabela Graciela Olmos Vasquez is number two. And incidentally, your company is supplying half the ingredients for a new biotic drug. One that has some killer after-effects." She purposely left out any mention of Cerberus. She didn't want to fully reveal her hand in this game of deception and distraction.

Lysandra smiled again without meaning anything by it. "And your question?"

"What's the connection between you and Vasquez?"

"It appears you already know, Spectre." Lysandra said. "She is an executive for the Khieni Corporation."

Liara stepped forward to confront the emissary. "We know there is more to it than that!"

"Shhhh…," said Lakota. "By not answering the question, she believes she's being smart."

"She's wrong," Wrex said. His eyes were continually scanning the room and his hands never left his shotgun.

"Apparently there are times when illusion is all we have," Liara said as leveled a steely gaze at Lysandra. Lakota got the impression that there was hidden meaning in her lover's statement.

The Spectre turned her head slightly, catching Liara in her periphery and then spoke is if addressing her alone. "You'd think she'd settle for being beautiful like Wrex has."

"She is not in his league," said the scientist.

"Ah, arrogance and stupidity all in the same package," Lysandra sneered, "how efficient of you, Spectre."

"Don't forget my witty repertoire which reflects my generally sarcastic nature. It's just one more service I offer."

"I like you, Shepard. You remind me of when I was young and stupid." The emissary tried to appear poised as she leaned back into her chair, but rigidness of her posture betrayed her tension. "But you will not get any answers for your questions today. Now I suggest you leave before Kolrak gets his wish and throws you out."

Defiantly, Lakota's arms crossed in front of her chest and her green eyes flashed with anger. She knew Lysandra had knowledge that she needed to finally understand the mayhem that had occurred over the last week. That prized information was within arm's reach and the Spectre was not going to be denied. She looked over at Wrex, nodded once and then returned her intense gaze back upon the asari emissary. "I don't think so."

Wrex looked at Kolrak and then to the four commandos. He then looked at Lysandra, smiled in a threatening way that only a krogan can smile and walked over toward the couch, stopping in front of the seated commandos, standing very close to them. Although deadly combatants, positioned next to the krogan battlemaster the four asari looked very small.

As Wrex moved toward the commandos, Liara eyed Kolrak. A few months prior, the asari scientist had been rescued from a krogan battlemaster at a Prothean dig site on Therum, since then she had been honing her biotic skills. She was no longer intimidated by the massive size of a krogan. A stasis field would stop them just as readily as any other foe.

The air in the room felt as though it was thickening, but Lakota kept her gaze locked on Lysandra. "You let us in here because you were hoping to find out what we knew after visiting Las Catacumbas. And then I mentioned something about the Khieni Corporation and Vasquez and now you want to know more."

No one moved. The four commandos were giving Wrex steely stares, but he remained unfazed while Kolrak's eyes darted between Lakota and Liara as if trying to determine the greater threat.

"That's one reason why you haven't thrown us out," the Spectre said.

"And the other?" The emissary was still trying to look at ease, but lost some ground as each second passed. The normally seductive and flirtatious air that surrounded her had been replaced with a calculated demeanor of someone who knew that their control within a situation was rapidly diminishing.

"There are only six of you and three of us," said Lakota, "which means we have you outnumbered."

Instantly, Kolrak looked as though he was going to go into a blood rage. "Enough!" he barked.

The krogan guard took one step toward Lakota and then the room broke into a simultaneous blur of action. Liara sent a biotic stasis field at Kolrak and then pointed her pistol at his immobilized form. Wrex chambered a round and pointed his shotgun at the seated commandos. Although a shotgun was useless from a distance, at close range it had a wide, devastating radius. The commandos knew this and knew he could take out two with a single shot. Which two he took out was still a mystery, so they all remained seated.

While the other two dealt with their targets, Lakota had drawn her gun and pointed it at Lysandra's head. "Okay," she said. "Everyone just sit tight."

Lysandra was outraged. "You cannot expect to insult me, shoot up this office and walk away!"

"Well, actually, as a Spectre, I can." Lakota smiled without humor. "You ever hear of the human expression 'if you can't beat them, join them'?"

"Yes, of course," said the emissary who still sounded enraged. "It is fairly common."

"Well, I say, 'if you can't beat them, beat them'… because they'll be expecting you to join them and you'll have the element of surprise."

A furious expression flashed upon Lysandra's face and her eyes narrowed menacingly at the pistol pointed at her. "You don't frighten easily, do you, Spectre?"

"Not hardly," said Lakota. "You know the damage Wrex can do and Liara can land a singularity on the tip of your nose and then explode you into your next life. You'd find it quite impressive... for a millisecond."

"And you have a flare for the dramatic," Lysandra said.

"This isn't dramatic. Blowing up a nuclear device on Virmire – now THAT was dramatic."

"I don't scare easily either, Spectre."

"I don't care." Lakota kept her pistol trained on Lysandra's head as she walked around the desk and stood behind the emissary. She spun the asari's chair around so they were face to face and then she pressed the barrel of the pistol against the bridge of Lysandra's nose. "I don't care that you're an emissary. I don't care that you're not scared. I don't care that your pet krogan is an idiot. You have information I want and if I don't get it, then you'll really get to see my dramatic side." Lakota added pressure to the pistol's barrel. "Plus, I'm smiling. This _should_ scare you."

The stasis field holding Kolrak dropped, but he still didn't move. Liara still had her pistol trained on him as blue tendrils of biotic energy coiled around her left arm ready to be unleashed. Wrex continued to hold the four commandos at bay with the threat of his shotgun and his own display of biotic energy which had both surprised and subdued the seated asari. An armored, one ton biotic krogan battlemaster with a loaded shotgun is not someone to take lightly.

Lysandra's nostrils flared as she took in a harsh breath. "We are business partners, but I've never met Vasquez. All of our correspondence was virtual or through couriers."

"Not good enough," Lakota said. "Give me something I can use."

The Spectre applied more pressure with the pistol.

"Now," Lakota said.

The four asari adjusted their positions and Kolrak shuffled a bit, but nobody made any decisive movements. Lysandra's body was rigid. Her face showed outrage, but looked pale in terms of asari complexion. Her throat moved as she swallowed.

"I'm about to get dramatic," Lakota warned.

"Ask Advisor Udina about Vasquez," Lysandra said.

With the pistol still pressed against the bridge of the emissary's nose, Lakota smiled and nodded. She removed the barrel and stepped away from the asari, but kept the pistol pointed at her head. Although still looking furious, tension visibly drained from Lysandra's form. Lakota nodded at Wrex and Liara and then walked backward toward the entry hallway – her pistol sites never leaving Lysandra's head.

"We're going to leave now… without a commotion. If any one of your goons makes a move, I will shoot once and you will be dead." Lakota glared briefly at Kolrak. "You know I'm an exceptional marksman, but I dare you to make me prove it."

Wrex and Liara followed Lakota as she backed down the hallway- each of them ready to send a barrage of biotics and bullets if anyone came into view. No one did. They exited the outer door and quickly moved through the Embassy wing to the mixed view of foliage and structural repair of the Presidium. Once in the open air environment, they slowed their pace but each of them occasionally glanced behind them making sure there was no pursuit.

"That went better than I thought it would," Lakota said cheerfully.

"Goddess," Liara said, "I do not want to know what you thought _would_ happen."

"I envisioned lots of bullets flying and ducking for cover."

"You _always_ envision that."

A wry smile played on Lakota's lips, then she said, "Prepare for the worst, hope for the best."

"Lysandra knows more than she told you," Wrex said. He was walking a step behind Lakota and Liara.

The Spectre nodded her head. "I'm counting on it." She reached into a pouch on her utility belt and pulled out the small scanner Tali had given her earlier in the day. "While up close and personal, I put the tracer on our asari emissary. The quantum dot nanochip is currently embedded in the bridge of her nose. We'll be able to track her movements for the next two weeks before it runs out of juice."

Liara was shaking her head. "If what Lysandra says is true and Advisor Udina is somehow involved in Anderson's assassination attempt, then this is much worse than we knew."

"It usually is," Lakota said.

"We going to talk with Udina?" Wrex asked.

"Oh yeah," Lakota said. "This runaround is really starting to irritate me and he seems like a good outlet for my annoyance."

Being practical, Liara said, "Lysandra could have lied."

Lakota smiled mischievously. "True, but I never let the facts get in the way of a good grudge."

Next up: El Pasado - Segunda Parte


	14. El Pasado Segunda Parte

**Author's Note:**

Thank you for following this story. It's the longest one I've written to date, so I am very grateful for the feedback both constructive and praising.

To help clarify and stave off any confusion, this chapter starts out in a dream (_italicized words_) and the dream has an unknown narrator (_**italicized bold words**_). Now… on with the story.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14: El Pasado – Segunda Parte<strong>

"_**Death will not wait for you to be ready."**_

_Heat rose off the sandy terrain making the young woman feel as though she stepped into a sweltering sauna. The midday sun blazed down from above causing perspiration to rise upon her skin, but she could find no shady cover in sight. Terracotta buildings were lined up in rows and segmented by busy, clutter filled streets: a clutter of people, a clutter of refuse, and a clutter of lifelong memories. Even the air felt suffocatingly cluttered, moist and dusty, with the stench of too many people packed into too small a space._

_The young woman with long, raven black hair adeptly weaved her way through the poverty ridden crowd. She had grown up in these slums - spent her sixteen years fighting for each scrap of food, each shred of dignity and each notch of respect. She turned down an all too familiar alleyway, sizing up the street thugs as she went, but she knew no one would touch her. Throughout the years she had proven that she had the intelligence, the daring and tenacity to accomplish "the impossible", and her audacious reputation was preceded only by her intimidating presence - "Tigre Carmesí" had an unmatched predatory edge._

_Stopping in front of a red, metallic door, the young woman discreetly surveyed her surroundings. She had a personal mantra born from adversity and branded upon her through tragedy – "If you can't take care of yourself, you're dead or on the way to being dead." When she felt confident no one was watching, she entered the building. Silently, she made her way up the stairs leading to her loft, nicknamed Azure for the color of its painted interior. It served as her personal living quarters and also her crew's base of operations. As she neared the top, the unmistakable rancorous odor of death was detected. Pulling her dagger, Chaos, from the sheath strapped to her left forearm, she slowly continued her deliberate, wary ascent. Each footfall echoed ominously through the stairwell below._

"_**Death will not be considerate or fair."**_

_Reaching the loft's entryway, the young woman's pale green eyes noticed that the front door was slightly ajar as if baiting her to proceed. She hesitantly nudged the door open allowing for a full view of the eerily quiet apartment. The atmosphere was lifeless. No voices. No music. No vids. The stench of death and decay drifted thickly upon the stagnant, hot air. The solitary sound in the room was the hum of the ancient refrigerator, which acted as a base line for the loft's tenebrous mood while dust particles reflecting off the bay window's sunbeam provided the only movement._

_She crossed quickly into the apartment and started her apprehensive search. She glanced over the sparsely equipped kitchen and then continued her advance through the dining room turned work space. Seeing nothing out of place, she moved on to resume her hunt, but halted abruptly at the ghastly sight in the living room. Her young, loyal crew lay strewn around the area in misshapen and bloodied ragdoll forms. The room had been painted with rounds from a submachine gun and the kids had been the nauseating canvas._

_The young woman stood paralyzed in an appalled silence. Sixteen years of living in the slums and she had never before seen such profane carnage. Her handpicked crew, six kids ranging from seven to fourteen years of age, massacred at gunpoint. Her chest burned hotly as she desperately sought to breathe._

"_**Death will not cower or hesitate." **_

_"Shepard."_

_Spinning wildly, brandishing her dagger, the young woman braced for an attack that never came. Instead of the enemy, another Reds' lieutenant stood before her. She recognized the beautiful red-head, her only friend and confidant in an environment that did not breed such loyalty. "Rosa?" _

_Frantically looking around at the horror encompassing her, the young woman bitterly pleaded, "Why?"_

_The red-headed girl walked slowly up to the young woman. She raised her right hand which softly caressed the young woman's honey-toned cheek and then smiled affectionately. "You're a hero. I've seen it. You'll save us all."_

_Unable to hide her confusion, the young woman challenged, "I don't understand…"_

_Rosa turned her head to the side and smiled wistfully. "One day you will, but first you must survive…"_

"_**To survive is not enough- you must be worthy of survival."**_

_Too late, the young woman heard the ticking sound and launched into a sprint towards the kitchen. The thundering explosion was followed by a searing pain that sliced across her face and a heavy pressure upon her chest that carried her in to the warm embrace of blackness…_

"_**You must become Death."**_

Lakota woke suddenly with a burning in her chest and a sharp ache that stretched across her face. By instinct the fingers of her right hand touched upon the throbbing facial scar as if trying to quell the stinging sensation and her left hand pressed upon her pounding chest. She attempted to take a deep breath, but the discomfort in her lungs prevented anything more than shallow intakes. Still lying in the bed, she kept her eyes closed and concentrated on taking slow, deliberate breaths by using the palm of her hand to mark in cadence the rise and fall of her chest.

The dream was not new – it had indiscriminately haunted her for eleven years – but it was always the same and brought with it the same bitter sense of having lost everything in one swift devastating blow. Without exception her Den Mother's voice, Grace's voice, narrated the dream - from walking through the Mexico City slums, to the macabre scene in the loft and finally to the explosion that was meant to end Lakota's life. She had survived though. As fate would have it, the old refrigerator in the kitchen had fallen on her, breaking her arm, cracking some ribs, but ultimately saving her from a fiery death. Lakota always woke the moment she was engulfed in the hungry flames of the bomb just as she always remembered the agony of the razor-sharp metal slashing across her face.

The Spectre opened her eyes to the dimly lit room of her cabin and was immediately soothed by the knowledge that she was in a safe, quiet space. The following breath she took – deep and grounding - reflected her quickly calming demeanor as her thoughts focused on tempering the anxiety which had been embedded into the primal fiber of her being. Her vision was still adjusting to the low, bluish-grey illumination and the overly dark shadows that were nestled in the various corners of the room, so she blindly reached out her left hand and was happily rewarded with the soft, warm shape of her lover lying next to her. A gentle smile formed on her lips as she took in another long, grounding breath and then exhaled slowly releasing some of the noticeable tension that had settled within her shoulder and neck muscles.

Languidly, Lakota rolled on her left side and looked upon Liara who was lying on her back and still sleeping soundly. The sight of her lover's naked form brought a content but somewhat bewildered smile to her lips as she marveled at the fact that an alien was in her bed. She had never been xenophobic, but if anyone would have told her that she would find happiness within the arms of a blue-toned, mono-gendered alien that had an ability to merge with their partner's nervous system, she would have told them to go get spaced.

Over the years, Lakota had a handful of lovers, but none ever captured and held her attention for any length of time– not until a beautiful, quirky, and intelligent Prothean scientist entered her line of sight. The Spectre was not only amazed at the rapid pace of their relationship, but also by the fact that their romance had not felt hurried. While hunting for Saren, they had forged a familiar friendship which had been woven within and enhanced by their mutual attraction for each other. Their relationship turned physical when Liara visited her cabin while the _Normandy_ was en route to Ilos and they both succumbed to their overwhelming desires. Upon their initial meeting, Lakota had known that Liara was different from anyone else that she had been attracted to, but during that first night of physical intimacy, she also realized just how different she was with Liara. Not only did the Spectre place value in the asari's opinion of her actions, but she found that her personal barriers were much lower as if their relationship already had a longstanding foundation from which to grow. For Lakota, it sometimes felt like she was remembering Liara- as though she had known her for ages and they were just being reintroduced after a long absence.

As her eyes adjusted to the low lighting, the Spectre's right hand reached out and her fingertips drew an imperceptible route along the landscape of graceful curves and flawless plains of the smooth azure skin before her. Bathed in the room's delicate luminance, the asari's flesh was enhanced by the flattering harmonies of bluish-grey brilliance - a sight that neither went unnoticed nor that Lakota took for granted. She loved the mesmerizing subtleties of her lover's skin – from the depth of its cerulean hues to its surprising softness to the unusual warmth that radiated off its smooth surface. Unhurriedly, the commander's fingers followed various pathways of freckled trails which were decorated upon the scientist's naked body in misbegotten patterns. The Spectre was spellbound by the intricate, yet spontaneous detail of Liara's adorable freckles and upon first discovering them had vowed to become intimately familiar with each and every salacious marking. Amid her slow, methodical explorations, tender fingertips soothingly traced the outline of her lover's face - across her forehead, upon her cheeks, brushing over the length of her nose and eventually coming to rest upon her chin.

As Lakota's fingertips drew a path along her sleeping lover's neck and down to her collar bone, she watched the asari's body involuntarily show the beginnings of arousal. From the subtle fluctuation in breathing to her hardening peaks to the shifting kaleidoscope of facial expressions, Lakota's delicate touch was awakening her lover on the primal level. The Spectre knew Liara's most responsive sensual zones and the provocative areas to focus her attentions that would incite and rouse, and she used this knowledge to her advantage.

The asari's still slumbering form stirred slightly. The electrifying stimulation from Lakota's fingertips had made its way to the periphery of Liara's consciousness and drew her toward a waking state.

Lazily taking in a deep breath, Liara murmured, "Shepard?"

"Shhhh," Lakota whispered, "you're still dreaming." The Spectre's fingertips journeyed between the valley of her lover's breasts down to the smooth plain of her belly and then began to trace the delicate outline of her hips.

Liara sighed softly with the hint of sleepiness still in her voice. "This does not feel like a dream."

"That's the best kind of dream," replied Lakota. "It's the kind where you just lie back and enjoy the pleasures that come to you." The Spectre watched her lover's chest rise and fall with each rhythmic intake of breath while her deft fingertips journeyed across the asari's thighs gently massaging and kneading every inch touched.

Still floating in a lethargic haze, Liara questioned, "And if I desire to reciprocate..?"

Lakota lifted herself up on the crook of her arm and then moved to fully straddle Liara with her forearms and knees braced on the bed. Her head bent down nuzzling into Liara's neck and breathed in her ambrosial scent that reminded Lakota of a fresh spring rain. Her lips found Liara's neck and she placed a line of doting kisses just under the jaw line, but when the asari's hands attempted to caress the commander's back, Lakota's hands moved to pin them to the bed.

"Not tonight," said Lakota. "Right now it's all about you."

The dream had a lingering effect upon Lakota, and she didn't want to share that discontent with Liara. She wanted to feel something beautiful - a connection, a sense of belonging and she wanted to see the look of pleasure on her lover's face, but she didn't want to open herself to receiving any pleasure. She wanted and needed to feel in control. To soften her statement, Lakota leaned in and tenderly brushed her lips upon Liara's. Pressing in to deepen the kiss, she was rewarded with the asari's lips parting and the feel of her silken tongue making contact. A tantalizing erotic play began between their supple lips and moist tongues which were woven together in a sweet, lascivious dance that seemed to bend time and wrap the lover's in a thick blanket of rising desire.

Liara knew her lover well enough to sense her discord, but she knew that Lakota would only talk about what was troubling her when she was ready. Also, as Lakota continued her attentive, sensuous exploration of her body, Liara found that logical thought and reasoning became more and more difficult to formulate, so she surrendered to the delightful sensations being elicited from her body.

The moment Lakota intuitively picked up on her lover's submission, her lips, hands and tongue began to work in salacious earnest - diligently enthralling and inciting with their masterful application of seductive pressure to well-mapped, beguiling areas. Losing herself in the erotic ministrations, Lakota was able to shed the last remaining depressing tendrils of her dream and became fully immersed in the heady, intoxicating activity of physical persuasion. Adrift in her own longing to please and evoke pleasure, Lakota ravenously pursued the path of Liara's climactic rise… and once found, she set about to vigilantly capture its divine essence yet again.

_Much, much later…_

Lying on the bed, nestled in each other's arms, Lakota and Liara enjoyed the peaceful aftermath of their hedonistic endeavors. Their rhythmic breathing matched the quiet mood that had settled between them and neither moved for fear of disrupting the serenity. Even the resonating hum of the _Normandy_ added to the tranquility of the moment.

After a time, Liara's voice sounded in the silence. "Commander?" She was lying on her right side with her left arm and left leg draped across Lakota's naked body while her head rested on her lover's honey-toned shoulder.

The Spectre shifted slightly and instinctively her left arm, which was wrapped around Liara's shoulders, tightened its embrace. "Doctor?"

"Will you tell me what is bothering you?" The room was too dark for Liara to see her lover's rueful smile.

Attempting to circumvent the questioning, Lakota asked, "Have you ever thought about the existence of flame throwers?"

"I do not believe so," Liara said with a hint of uncertainty in her voice. She took the lazy opportunity to nuzzle her face into her lover's neck and breathe in her soothing and familiar scent of sage laced with a hint of sandalwood.

"They prove that some time, somewhere, someone said to themselves 'I want to set those people on fire, but I am not close enough to get the job done.'"

Skeptically, Liara asked, "And this has been bothering you?"

"No," Lakota said, "but it's an interesting insight into universal psychology because all species have their own form of incinerating someone."

"You are avoiding my original question."

"Maybe."

Liara sighed softly and then placed a gentle kiss upon her lover's neck. "Shepard… tell me."

Lakota smiled to herself. She knew Liara would pick up on her inner turmoil, but she was still unaccustomed to someone knowing her personality traits so well. "The events of the last few weeks have stirred up my past. Things that I thought I'd laid to rest… but I'm finding out that's not the case."

"Grace."

Lakota nodded her head as her unfocused eyes darted without purpose along the ceiling of the darkened room. "She's dead. I shot her. I saw her body… but if somehow I am wrong… or if I am right and someone is playing me…" The Spectre's brows furrowed and then she said, "Either way it's reminded me of some lessons I learned on Earth."

"And those lessons are…?" Liara prompted.

"I learned about choices and consequences and responsibility. I learned that we all have choices, even when we don't recognize them, and that those choices have consequences, not just for ourselves, but for others. We must assume responsibility for those consequences."

"You are talking about the children under your command." Liara snuggled in closer, tightening her embrace and basking in the tranquil feel of skin on skin contact.

"Yes," said Lakota. "They were my responsibility."

"That was not your fault. Grace, who at the time was a trusted mentor, betrayed you."

"That's no excuse. I should've known."

Knowing that Lakota would not be receptive to sympathetic remarks, Liara turned the conversation in a new direction. "Is that what is bothering you? That you were unable to save them?"

"I don't know," Lakota said. "With Grace dead I thought that chapter of my life was closed. Now with her name being tossed around again, it somehow changes everything."

"Do you wish you could have done things differently?"

"I don't let myself think that way. You're born, you live and you die. There are no do-overs, no second chances to make things right if you screw them up the first time. You make your choices and you live with them." The Spectre took a deep breath before adding, "And in the end you are the sum of those choices."

"That does not answer my question though. Do you wish you had done things differently or had done nothing at all?"

Lakota hesitated a moment before answering. "I do wish things had turned out differently, but honestly…" The Spectre sighed heavily, "I'd rather do something and make a mistake than be frightened into doing nothing."

As they laid together in contented silence, the fingertips of Lakota's right hand began to leisurely trace abstract patterns across the blue-hued skin of her lover's left arm and shoulder. The earlier physical exertions had left both lovers drifting in a peaceful haze and each wanted to bask in its quiet restfulness before it slipped away.

An involuntary yawn broke the Spectre's peaceful repose as she stretched her body from head to toe. "Have you ever heard of the human expression 'when life gives you lemons, make lemonade'?"

"Yes, I have," Liara replied. She snuggled back into Lakota's naked form after her stretch was completed.

"So logically, if life hands you tomatoes, then you make Bloody Marys."

"I am familiar with that drink."

"Well, if it bombards you with a truckload of grenades… THAT's a message to pay attention to."

A smile begetting curiosity tugged at the asari's lips. "Is that how this feels?"

Lakota did not reply. Her chaotic thoughts fell heavily within her mind as though buried in shadow.

Tentatively, Liara asked, "Do you want to talk about how you are feeling?"

"No," Lakota said, "not now."

"Would you like me to stop asking you how you feel?"

"For the moment - yes." She didn't want Liara to think that she'd built an impenetrable wall around the subject thereby rendering the topic off-limits to any future discussion, so she clarified her answer. "I have a lot of feelings, and I'm not embarrassed to talk to you about them. It's just that feelings won't help me now. Now I have other stuff to do. When it's done…"

"I understand." Liara smiled gently and then added, "I will just save the question for later."

The Spectre tightened her embrace, bringing their bodies closer together which also acted as an expression of gratitude for Liara understanding her choice not to indulge in an emotional conversation. "I plan on seeing this through to the end. My appointment with Udina is in the morning, so we'll see what he has to say for himself." Lakota chuckled softly. "I'll be taking Wrex too, because I noticed that Udina sweats more when he's around."

"Can you trust what he says?" Liara asked.

"Doubtful. He's a politician – manipulative, cunning. My biggest problem with Udina isn't that he tells just lies - that would be too easy - it's that he laces the truth with lies."

"This is all based on Lysandra and what she told you at gunpoint. How can you be so sure she did not lie to you?"

"I can't," Lakota said, "that's why I'm covering all of my bases. Garrus is keeping tabs on passenger manifests through his contacts at C-Sec, so I'll know if any asari emissary requests passage off the Citadel. Tali is doing me a favor by monitoring the tracer, so I'll know when and where Lysandra travels for the next few days. I'm just hoping I gave her enough of a scare that she makes a move. I've given her enough rope, now we just have to wait and see if she hangs herself with it. Something tells me her part in this is not over."

"The hussy's focus on _you_ had better be over."

The asari's voice sounded playful, but there was a steely edge to the statement which made Lakota smile in affectionate amusement.

"Times like this remind me of something that my old platoon used to say before being deployed on a mission."

"Oh?" said Liara. "What is it?"

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the weaponry to make the difference."

As they both chuckled, Lakota hugged Liara's body firmly against hers and drank in the comfort and solace found while tangled within her arms. Over the last few months, the asari had been able to disarm all of her personal defenses, but instead of feeling anxious about the unfamiliar vulnerability, Lakota felt as though she finally stood on solid ground. Within the burning uncertainty of recent events, Liara had become a safe haven in which to seek shelter, one that offered sanctuary for her turbulent mind. Lakota held this newfound gift in high esteem and made sure to savor every nuance of the tranquil moment offered to her now, because she knew that tomorrow would arrive all too soon, and along with it another set of obstacles.

Up Next: The Advisor


	15. The Advisor

**Author's Note:**

To all those who are following this fic – thank you for your time! And to those who have Fav'd, Alerted and left Reviews, I am very grateful for the feedback! Muchas Gracias!

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><p><strong>Chapter 15: The Advisor<strong>

Midday had settled upon the Citadel as people who looked busy rushed from one seemingly important destination to another. Wrex and Lakota stood out from the crowd not only because of their leisurely stride, but by the uncommon sight of a krogan and human walking side by side. Krogan weren't known to be particularly fond of humans – nor of any other species, even their own. The pair's winding path took them to an area they had visited many times within recent days: the Presidium. The once lush park–like complex contained offices for various branches of the galactic government, as well as embassies for all the races represented in the Citadel which is why they had returned to this section of the Citadel. Lakota had an appointment with Donnel Udina – the advisor to the first human Citadel Council member.

Wrex and Lakota walked onto a large, open platform that had been spared from any damage during the recent battle with Saren and Sovereign. Armed C–Sec guards met their advance, but after Lakota flashed her omnitool toward their scanners, they swiftly stepped aside to grant them passage. The pair continued up another staircase leading to the second floor and then followed the walkway toward the human embassy.

"I swear that this week I've been here more than I've been on the _Normandy_." Lakota yawned reflexively as she stretched both arms in a wide arc above her head.

Wrex glanced at his companion with a touch of amusement in his eyes. "Didn't sleep well, Shepard?"

"Sleeping is not my problem, Wrex." The Spectre let both arms drop to her sides. "Getting out of bed – that's my problem."

"I'd have the same problem if an asari were in my bed."

Lakota chuckled. "That does add a bit to my dilemma, but I've always had a hard time getting out of bed when it's dark outside."

"Shepard, in space, it's always dark."

"Now you begin to understand my problem." Even though they were supposed to meet an unarmed man because of the explosive way her week was unfolding, Lakota had chosen to adorn her Mercenary X armor. It wasn't the best suit of armor at her disposal – she had a suit of Predator X and Colossus X armor – but she liked its intimidating deep red hues. Over the years she had noticed that a person garbed in the color of blood always made onlookers pause, and that hesitation could easily be taken advantage of, especially if it was a known quantity.

"And yet you made it to the ranks of N7," Wrex said.

"Well, that was sorta preplanned," Lakota explained. "When I joined the Alliance, I had to take a service exam. My psych profile fit a certain... 'moral flexibility' would be the best way to describe it… and I was earmarked for their special ops division."

"Moral flexibility." Wrex smiled and nodded his head approvingly. "I like that."

As they continued to walk, Lakota spotted two salarians who were arguing over a breeding contract. As their debate grew more heated, their voices became louder until they realized they were attracting attention. Then they stopped arguing and walked off – their debate evolving into a physically animated discussion with hands flailing wildly in the air. "When I was a kid, I really wanted a bike – a two–wheeled, self–propelled mode of transportation, so I prayed to god and asked for one. Then after going to church, I realized that god doesn't work that way." The Spectre grinned mischievously. "So I stole one and asked for forgiveness."

"Clever."

"Moral flexibility," countered Lakota. "I figured if god was really watching, the least I could do was to be entertaining."

"You should have kicked your god in the quad and taken his bike."

"Now, why didn't I think of that?" said Lakota.

"You're human."

Lakota shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "I do the best I can."

For Lakota, one of the oddities of the Citadel was the sense of timelessness that permeated when she spent an excessive period of time on the space station. There were no seasons on the Citadel and, environmentally speaking, each day was just like the last. In fact, the only current indication of any passage of time was the rate of ongoing structural repairs. She knew that the barely distinguishable aberration of repetitive days would eventually wear on her psyche if she were to be assigned here for any great length of time. That reason alone made her grateful for the nomadic existence of a commander on a frigate. She liked being on the move.

As the krogan and human approached the entrance to the embassy, Lakota's stride abated. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I don't like Udina."

"Tell me something that's not obvious."

Ignoring the krogan's playful commentary, Lakota explained her reasoning. "I've always thought that a leader should have honest eyes. Udina has beady little eyes that are constantly shifting from one corner of the room to another like he's trying to find an escape route. To me, this is not a good combination."

"Poke them out; see if you like him any better after."

Lakota opened her mouth as if to speak, but hesitated in order to fully contemplate the krogan's words. After a moment, she nodded her head approvingly and quipped, "That's not a bad idea."

The pair continued on their winding path toward the embassy in silence, but before they had reached the stairs leading to the front entryway, a familiar voice sounded out behind them. "Shepard!"

Lakota spun around and greeted the new arrival. "Councilor Anderson, this is a surprise."

"No need for formalities, Shepard, this conversation is off the books." Anderson was a tall and rather athletic man who normally had an imposing presence, but today he looked weary. "Udina told me you were meeting with him."

"I just wanted to see how he was doing after the events the other night."

"You mean the assassination attempt."

"Yeah, that little thing," said the Spectre.

"I know you wouldn't see him voluntarily, so what's the real reason?"

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a pessimist?"

"That just means I'm a well–informed optimist." The Councilor looked at the Spectre with a hard, inquisitive stare. "Also, I know you too well. What's going on, Shepard?"

Although she didn't like Udina, Lakota wasn't going to accuse him of something without proof, so she kept her explanation simple and honest. "While investigating the assassination attempt, Udina's name came up. He may know something… directly or indirectly."

Anderson pondered Lakota's words. He had been an advocate for her Spectre status and had given up his command of the _Normandy_ so she could use the frigate to hunt Saren – he trusted her implicitly. "Let's discuss this in a more secure location. We should go through the private entrance around to corner. Unless you want to be interviewed by a mass of reporters."

Lakota tilted her head to the side as though considering the offer. "Well, you know how I feel about the media maws."

"Yes," Anderson said. "I heard you threw one out of a third story window on Elysium."

"There was a big pool below the window."

The Councilor raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I assume you knew that."

"I was just proving a point," Lakota said.

"Which was?"

"Given sufficient thrust anyone can fly."

"Liara has got her hands full with you," muttered the councilor under his breath.

Anderson led the krogan battlemaster and human Spectre around the corner to the private entrance of the embassy. The secluded pathway was heavily guarded by armed security forces that were under the jurisdiction of the human embassy. Only authorized personnel were allowed near the area, let alone through the facility's entrance, and anyone without the proper credentials was promptly escorted off the premises. After displaying their various IDs and being submitted to retinal and DNA scans, they were all allowed into the building. Both the Councilor and Spectre had to vouch for Wrex before the security chief let him through – krogan were not known for having a calm, passive nature and the chief was looking to avoid any trouble.

Once they made it through security, they retreated to Anderson's office. It was a large suite that had been divided into an office on the right half of the room and a lounge area on the left. The office side had a large desk and office chair with two standard issue chairs on the opposite side of the desk for visitors. The lounging area was decorated with a tan leather–like couch and two matching lounge chairs. A glass–top coffee table with a walnut colored frame was placed in the middle of the furniture and acted as the focal point to the space. Both sections had a well–ordered and efficient look – carried over from the Councilor's military lifestyle. The outer wall of the suite was entirely made up of glass panes and looked out onto the damaged landscape of the Presidium. One of the panes was actually a sliding doorway the led out to a large open–air porch – this was where the three chose to hold their discussion.

Lakota leaned back on the outer railing of the porch. "There's an awful lot of military security posted here now."

"After the assassination attempt, we tightened our protocols and added more bodies."

"Why not just use C–Sec like the other Councilors?"

"C–Sec is for the Council's protection, but the military is for the embassy's protection. I want to keep C–Sec and military duties very clear and separate from each other."

"Why? Seems more of a hassle to petition military personnel than it would be to add a few more C–Sec officers. Or why not request all military instead of trying to blend both of the groups."

"There's a very good reason to separate the military and C–Sec. One fights the enemies of the government, the other serves and protects the people. And we need them to be unique because when the military becomes both, then the enemies of the government tend to become the people."

"Good point." Lakota frowned momentarily then commented, "You look tired, Anderson."

"Things have been busy since the other night. Reports, interviews, debriefings. I've had more face time as a diplomat then I ever had as officer. Almost makes me wish the shot hadn't missed."

"Nah, then you'd miss out on all the fun."

"Fun?" said Anderson.

"Yeah, fun. As a diplomat you get to tell someone to hell in such a way that they'll look forward to the trip."

"I think you've missed the point of being a diplomat."

"Probably why I'm not one."

Anderson walked over to stand next to Lakota and scanned the disheveled Presidium. "It looks as though you've recovered from your encounter with Finch."

"I've got a good doctor on the _Normandy_. Plus…" Lakota smirked as she looked over at Wrex who stood five paces behind them. "I've found that the best way to keep looking young and healthy is to hang out with old people – krogan and asari included."

Anderson smiled and then asked, "Do you think Udina was involved in the assassination attempt?"

"Honestly," Lakota said, "I don't know. But that's why I'm here to talk with him."

"And Wrex?"

"He's acting as legal counsel."

Anderson looked skeptically at the krogan battlemaster.

Wrex flashed the Councilor a toothy grin which on the krogan looked menacing. "I make sure others understand what a Spectre can do to them – legally."

"Which is?"

"Anything she wants."

"You actually say that to them?" the councilor questioned.

"Mostly he just stands around and looks angry," Lakota said.

Wrex's grin widened.

Then Lakota added, "It works for him."

"I think it's best I don't know anymore," Anderson replied. He looked back over to Lakota and then asked, "You'll let me know what you discover about Udina? I don't like the idea that he could be involved."

"Neither do I." Sighing heavily, Lakota added, "And all of this running around looking for answers is driving me a little crazy."

"Well," replied Anderson, "anyone willing to command the _Normandy_ and chase after Reapers has got to be slightly insane, but I don't think that you're ready for the asylum just yet."

"If given a choice," said Lakota, "I'd prefer to be only slightly insane."

"Don't we all," Wrex quipped.

**########################**

Udina's office wasn't as panoramic as Anderson's. In fact, the advisor's office was on an interior wall so it had no view of the Presidium at all. In place of outer windows, the room had large holographic pictures of famous human paintings which could be changed to a new image with the touch of a button. The first was a landscape painting called "Sea of Ice" by the German romantic landscape painter Casper David Friedrich, the second – "A Starry Night Over the Rhone" – was by the Dutch post-impressionist painter Vincent Van Gogh, and the third was a large image of Claude Monet's most famous paintings – "Water Lilies." The single–roomed space was adorned in neutral colors– off-white walls, a camel colored sofa and two matching lounge chairs next to it. Udina was sitting at his glass–top desk proofing some new press releases about the assassination attempt two days before. When Lakota and Wrex walked into his room, he looked up – his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the krogan.

"Shepard," Udina said.

"Advisor," Lakota replied.

"You're early."

"I was in the neighborhood and thought, 'why wait'?"

Udina watched the Spectre and Battlemaster as they crossed the room to stand in front of his desk. There were two chairs, but neither of the visitors made a move to sit down. He looked nervously at Wrex and then shifted his gaze back to Lakota.

"I assume there is a point to your being here, or did you just want to waste my time?" Udina said brusquely.

Lakota responded to the advisor's sharp tone with an aggressive advance of her own. "I'm guessing you didn't like losing to Anderson."

"What? What kind of question is that?"

"When I first met you, your aspirations were for a seat on the Council. Did something change? Is your philosophy now akin to something like 'aim low, reach your goals, avoid disappointment'?"

"Winning isn't everything, Shepard!"

"Really?" The Spectre defiantly crossed her arms in front of her. "Then why do we keep score?"

Udina glared at Lakota in annoyance. "If this is what you came to ask me, then I suggest you leave."

Lakota let her arms fall to her sides and purposely took on a less aggressive tone. "I really did come to ask you how you like being the advisor to Anderson." Then she added, "It's important."

Udina's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "For now, I am content. I am able to make a difference by helping Anderson establish humanity's foothold on the Citadel and help him on the terrain of galactic politics."

The Spectre had heard Udina's generic line before – he had repeated it to the press many times, but she didn't believe he was satisfied as just an advisor. "Because it's easier to fight for principles than live up to them, right?"

With an angry grimace, Udina said, "Cut the crap, Shepard. You may be a Spectre, but you can't come barging in my office to harass me. Just who the hell do you think you are you?"

Lakota was prepared for the man's anger. It's what she was hoping to see. People revealed things in anger that they wouldn't reveal when calm and collected, so she decided to stir him up some more. "Who are any of us? What do you know about Isabel Graciela Olmos Vasquez?"

"What?"

"It was a two–part question. I raised a metaphysical question about human identity and the more worldly question of how you know Isabel Graciela Olmos Vasquez?"

"What the hell business is it of yours?"

"Personal identity is a concern to us all."

"Goddamn it, I'm talking about Vasquez!" He tried to looked outraged, but fell short. Mostly he looked confused by the erratic conversation.

"Vasquez is linked to the assassination attempt and I heard that you know her."

A shocked expression flashed across the advisor's face. He didn't say anything for a few minutes, but when he finally spoke his voice was low and without inflection. "Do you have any proof?"

Smiling without humor, Lakota said, "If I didn't, then I wouldn't be talking to you."

Udina's eyes dropped to his desk but appeared to be unfocused, as his mind raced from thought to thought. "That can't be. That just can't be."

"Sure it can. Tell me what you know."

Udina continued to stare emptily at nothing. Then he looked up and met Lakota's gaze. "She's a campaign contributor. Introduced herself to me about a year ago soon after you became a Spectre. She said she wanted to see humanity rise to its rightful place."

"Rightful place?"

"She wanted to see a representative for humanity on the Council. She blamed the other race's stonewalling for my lack of promotion. Said they were holding me back."

"Well the secret to success is knowing who to blame for your failures, right?"

"Go to hell, Shepard!"

Lakota was trying to rile his anger, so she ignored the remark. "What else do you know?"

Udina didn't respond in any way to the Spectre's question, but his eyes shifted back to their blank, unfocused expression as though once again deep in thought.

"I wasn't kidding when I said she was involved with the assassination attempt," Lakota said, her tone taking on a steely edge. "Since you're so close, her involvement could reflect badly upon you. Then were would your political aspirations be?"

"Nonexistent," Wrex growled.

Udina's eyes quickly looked up and over at the krogan whose words shocked him out of his silence. "We're not close. She's a supporter, nothing more."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"She was at Anderson's coronation party."

This time it was Lakota who had a shocked expression on her face. "What?"

"She was there, mingling with the guests." Udina sensed that because of his knowledge he now had the upper hand in the conversation. "Don't tell me that the 'Great Commander Shepard' didn't notice."

Her irritation instantly aflame, Lakota sneered, "No, I didn't. I was too busy saving your ass from a bullet." There were hundreds of people at the party, so logically Lakota knew that one person could easily be overlooked. Plus she didn't even know if this was the same woman who raised her – it could be an impostor. In spite of her rational mind knowing the impossible odds of recognizing a woman in a large crowd who may or may not look the same and who may or may not actually be the same individual, the Spectre was still angered. The woman she was looking for could have been standing right next to her, but not been seen. "I don't want to cause a political incident by shooting you, but I haven't crossed it off of my list, so I suggest you tell me the rest of it."

Udina smiled in smug self–satisfaction as he tapped on his data pad. After a moment, he handed it to her and said, "Isabel Vasquez."

Lakota took the data pad and looked at it. Udina had pulled a digital image of himself and a human woman who were posing for the picture at the party two nights ago. The woman was attractive. She had dark skin with long black hair worn past her shoulders and large dark eyes. She wore a lime green cocktail dress that accentuated her athletic frame in a visually pleasing way. The woman had a mature, sensual air and although she was probably in her fifties, she could have easily passed for late thirties. Lakota knew her approximate age because she recognized the woman immediately. Grace.

The Spectre couldn't take her eyes off of the surreal image on the data pad. She wanted to think, to run through viable scenarios of how a dead woman was able to get into a digital image that was taken a few days ago, but she couldn't. Her breath had caught in her chest as a sinking feeling took root in her stomach and within that strange hollow sensation all thought stopped. She was frozen in place.

Wrex watched the Spectre stare at the data pad– unmoving. "Looks like you've seen a ghost, Shepard."

Lakota was shaken out of her grisly reverie by the sound of the krogan's voice, but continued to stare at the image. "I think I have, Wrex."

"You're not getting those sappy feelings of nostalgia, are you?"

"Nostalgia?" Lakota looked over at krogan. "Revenge is a form of nostalgia, right?"

"It is in my book," replied the krogan.

"That's good enough for me."

The Spectre took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly as she allowed the information to fully sink into her psyche. It was one of those things you know for a long time before you actually know it. Grace was alive.

Udina had been carefully watching Lakota since he handed her the image. He thought it would have an effect, but had no idea how much. "Who is she to you, Shepard?"

Narrowing her eyes menacingly, Lakota said, "She is a suspect in Anderson's attempted assassination."

"There's more to it than that," Udina accused.

The Spectre replied curtly, "No, there isn't and I've got nothing else to say about her."

"I think you do."

Lakota's steely eyes met Udina's. "It doesn't matter what you think."

She handed the datapad back to the advisor. "Since you're so close to her," Lakota said, "why don't you tell me where she's residing?"

"I don't know her current residence, but surely C–Sec has that information."

"Indeed," Lakota said.

Garrus had already run the name through C–Sec's database and had gotten no hits, but the Spectre was in no mood to disclose that information to the advisor. Instead, she pondered what had just been uncovered. At some point, Grace had arrived on the Citadel, but she must have used a forged ID to get through security. That didn't surprise Lakota in the least.

Knowing she'd gotten all of the useful information she could out of Udina, Lakota decided to cut the meeting short. "We're all given some sort of skill in life, Advisor. Mine just happens to be beating up on people. Remember that before you decide to contact Vasquez."

"If she's involved in the assassination attempt," Udina said, "then I want her incarcerated just as much as you do."

Lakota gave the advisor a long, hard look. "I doubt that."

**########################**

Lakota and Wrex strolled through the Presidium heading back toward the _Normandy's_ docking bay. It was late–afternoon and the crowds of people they encountered earlier had thinned dramatically.

Thinking about the likelihood of finding Grace on a space station packed with millions of residents, Lakota sighed heavily. "The trouble with life is that there's no background music to warn you when something diabolical is about to happen."

"Like in those horror vids you watch?" Wrex asked. "The music didn't help them either."

"No. You're right," conceded Lakota. "Even the foreshadowing is useless, but at least the plots have a certain predictable pattern – walk down a dark hallway alone. Scream. Bleed to death."

"Well, it's bright out, you're not alone, so you must be screaming."

Chuckling, Lakota said, "Yes. In my head I am screaming… in frustration."

"I find hitting something or someone to be more therapeutic." Wrex helpfully provided.

"That's the general plan for the future." Lakota frowned as she gazed across the park at a human woman with long dark hair. She was noticing everyone with those characteristics now. "The blood is already on my hands, Wrex. Right or wrong, I'm going to follow this path to its end." She turned her head and flashed the krogan a wry grin. "I'm just hoping not to bleed to death along the way."

"The only certainty in life, Shepard, is that we will die. It is only a matter of how, when, and whether or not it is with honor."

"Well," Lakota said, "that's cheery… but who wants to live forever anyway, right?" She thought for a moment on her question, shrugged her shoulders and added, "Actually, I do… but what the hell, let's go stir up some trouble."

Next Chapter – The Break


	16. The Break

**Author's Note:**

A big "Thank you!" to all who are following this story. And to those who have Fav'd, Alerted and left reviews, I am very grateful for the feedback!

Also, chapter one of a new Lysandra story called "In the Meantime" was just published. It's a companion piece to this story, but is told entirely from Lysandra's POV. The four chapter arc will focus on the moments after each Lysandra/Shepard exchange in OFR. This is a collaborative endeavor with another FFN author – Lyaksandra, who graciously offers her time as my beta reader. (You ROCK!) Since you like ME, I highly recommend you check out her story "Walked Amongst Giants"… one of my favorites.

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><p><strong>Chapter 16: The Break<strong>

As Lakota strolled through the _Normandy's_ corridors, her mind wandered back to the picture of her old mentor, Grace. The woman's image was unmistakable for it had been branded into the Spectre's memory over the course of many years. High cheek bones offset with dark features and outlined by long raven black hair created a captivating and regal portrait. Beautiful, poised, mesmerizing. Dark amber eyes also added a hint of mystery and allure that seemed to jump out of the image while at the same time called attention to a brooding aura. There really was no mistaking her for someone else. Lakota had spent too many years in the woman's shadow to not be able to recognize her elegant beauty immediately.

The image of her old mentor did not fabricate warm feelings of splendor in Lakota; rather it generated a sensation more closely associated to feeling like poison was coursing through her veins and it created a cold, sinking feeling in the middle of her gut as though a ball of ice was forming. Just knowing the woman was still alive quickened the Spectre's pulse to a thundering cascade and shifted her breathing to short, rapid intakes. Her left hand– which had begun to throb– sent shooting pain up her forearm, so her right hand reached over and began to absentmindedly knead the center of the palm. As Lakota continued to reflect upon the woman and her own past, she felt a sudden chill creep down her spine and an involuntary shiver pass through her body.

The Spectre stopped in the middle of the corridor and focused on the raised hairs along her arms and the sweat that now chilled her body. She could scarcely believe it. After all of these years, Grace's image still wielded the power of fear over her. Fear was not an everyday feeling for Lakota, but neither was it uncommon. For her there were two kinds of fear – unhealthy and healthy. Being afraid of something that cannot actually do harm – such as spiders – or something you can do nothing to avoid – such as old age or being hit by a runaway tram – is unhealthy because it paralyzes the will and causes stagnation. On the other hand, being afraid of falling off the ledge of a mountain as you are hiking is a healthy fear, because the danger is real and there are constructive steps that can be taken to avoid it– such as being vigilant about each footfall on your path or avoiding the path altogether. Healthy fear keeps you motivated and alert – it keeps you alive.

The reactionary fear Grace's image instilled in Lakota was not healthy. It was born from years of twisted psychological games and manipulations. Her old mentor had been very generous with those she favored, but she had also been vicious and unforgiving if she felt slighted or somehow threatened. During her years with the Reds, gauging Grace's moods became paramount to survival, and the difficulty level was raised by the fact that her moods were in constant flux between extremes, but Lakota had been better than most at navigating Grace's psychological minefield. After eleven years though, at the age of sixteen, Lakota stumbled. She never knew what set Grace off, what drove her mentor to murder her crew and then attempt to kill her as well. Lakota assumed Grace had become paranoid, but even during their final confrontation the woman never revealed her reasoning. In hindsight, the Spectre knew there may not have been a trigger for her mentor's actions, but that thought didn't allow for any emotional or mental closure, so she didn't give it much energy. Lakota wanted closure. She thought she had attained it, but with Grace having returned from the dead, the Spectre realized she had some remaining unfinished emotional business regarding her adolescence still lingering in her life.

Lakota shook her whole body as if to throw off the agitated thoughts and uneasy feelings surging through her being and then continued on her trek through the _Normandy_. Eventually, she ended up in the shuttle bay and crossed over to the weapons table near the Mako. She caught sight of Garrus on his hands and knees; he appeared to be looking for something lost on the floor.

"Garrus, what are you doing?"

The turian's head popped up over the table. "I hate bugs."

"Okay," Lakota said, "but that doesn't explain what you're doing."

"I'm on a bug hunt. Little bastard showed up in my scope while I was calibrating it. You ever see a bug's eyes amplified by two hundred and ten percent?"

"I don't think so…"

"Very creepy," Garrus said. "So if you see something big with eight legs coming your way, let me know. I have to kill it before it develops language skills."

The Spectre smirked and nodded. "Will do."

Walking over to the table, Lakota picked up one of the sniper rifles Garrus was calibrating and took aim at a faraway wall. "So… what's up? What did you think I would find so interesting that I had to come down to the spider pit?"

"My aversion to creepy crawly things is justified. It looked like a baby rachni."

"Don't tell me that," Lakota groaned. "Now I want to see it."

Smiling, Garrus stood and walked over to the terminal he was using to calibrate the weaponry. "With the aid of the tracking device you conveniently imbedded on Lysandra… I wish I had been there to see that… Tali has been monitoring the emissary's movements. They had been isolated to her living quarters… until this afternoon."

Lakota dropped the rifle to her side and looked over at the turian. "Oh?"

"Yeah." He began to punch commands in the holographic keyboard and an image of a seven story factory appeared on a monitor. "Tali sent me the coordinates and the timestamp of Lysandra's movements. I tapped into the C–Sec security system and was able to get video footage of her path as she and her troupe of commandos travelled through the Citadel. There was nothing spectacular or interesting until…"

The turian tapped a few more commands into the virtual keyboard and the image zoomed in to a large open air deck on the fifth floor of the building. Two figures were standing very close to each other and three more were located at various entry points to the deck. The image continued to slowly zoom in making auto–corrections on visual clarity until it stopped when the two figures who appeared to be in conversation were in full view. Lakota recognized both of them –Grace and Lysandra. Grace appeared to be angry, but Lysandra looked calm and contained.

Garrus looked over at the Spectre who had an odd expression on her face. "Is something funny?"

Lakota shook her head, but her eyes never left the digital image. "I'm smiling because I don't know what the hell is going on." She also felt that familiar icy knot growing in her gut again, but she pushed that sensation away from her thoughts.

The turian tilted his head questioningly. "I suppose that could be funny."

Running her fingers through her pony–tailed, black hair, Lakota said, "Even though I threatened and pushed and cajoled, I didn't expect Lysandra to do anything. And I certainly didn't think she would do this… give up Grace. That just seems… well…too convenient and really stupid. And Lysandra is many things, but stupid is not one of them."

"From my time in C–Sec, I can tell you that the two most common elements in the universe are hydrogen and stupidity."

Lakota smiled and this time the humor reached her eyes. Her gaze though was still locked on the image of the two talking figures. "Lysandra is not a fool. By all rights – and according to her doctorates – she could be considered a genius. I'm just having a hard time wrapping my mind around that fact that she would do something so… indiscreet."

As he looked thoughtfully at the Spectre, Garrus shrugged his shoulders. "Genius has its limits… stupidity does not."

"I suppose you're right." The Spectre frowned as the knot in her belly became too uncomfortable to ignore.

"You sure you're okay, Shepard?"

Lakota took a deep grounding breath and then looked over at the turian and flashed him a familiar, roguish grin. "Me? Yeah. I'm uniquely maladjusted, but fine."

She took aim with the sniper rifle once again, this time lining one of the electrical conduits in the crosshairs. "Garrus, have you ever heard of Sun Tzu – a human military general and philosopher?"

The turian shook his head. "I don't think so."

"He said 'all warfare is based on deception.'" She dropped the sniper rifle to her side and then placed it back on the table.

"So you think Lysandra is trying to deceive you?"

"One of them is." Lakota's eyes narrowed as she returned her focus to the digital image on the monitor and back upon her former mentor. "Or both of them."

A deep tenor voice sounded out from behind them. "So… trap?" Wrex made his way across the shuttle bay toward them both.

Lakota smiled brightly at the krogan while nodding and confirmed, "Trap."

"Wait… what?" Confused, Garrus asked, "How do you get 'trap' out of all this?"

"It's too easy, too convenient and too timely. Just when I hit a dead end, the _exact_ information I need manifests?"

"It could happen," said the turian.

Wrex grunted in amusement.

"Hey," Garrus challenged, "Tali showed up with the information on Saren just when you needed it."

"Getting to Tali and getting her information wasn't easy or convenient," Lakota said. "It was timely, but there was work involved."

Shaking his head, Garrus commented, "I still don't see why you think this is a trap."

"Garrus," Lakota said, "during all those years at C–Sec, how many times in an investigation was information handed to you on a silver platter?"

The turian was quiet for a moment, and then admitted, "Never."

Nodding, Lakota said, "Exactly… so… trap."

"Yep," Wrex said. "Trap."

Garrus looked at the human and krogan and shook his head once more. "_If it's a trap_," he thought, "_then why are they both smiling like idiots?_"

########################

Lakota strode confidently into her quarters wearing an all–black, prototype infiltrator suit that covered her body– head to toe. She and Tali had been collaborating on the experimental blend of synthetic and electronic technology over the last few months. The skintight weave of para–aramid synthetic fibers and nano–circuitry closely resembled a twenty–first century wet suit, but had a much broader application. The flexible cloth offered a range of motion that could not be matched by any ceramic plated construction, and its exceptional heat resistance and high tensile strength granted it unprecedented durability when compared to similar flexible textiles. It wasn't a match for her battle armor, but for the purpose she had in mind, it was ideal.

In order to offer greater protection from gun fire, slash attacks and hand to hand combat; the forearms, shins and joint areas had been reinforced with a combination of thin, laminated fibers and tiny, ceramic plates. Although considered a one–piece suit, the pull–on hood, custom–fitted gloves and reinforced boots were removable. A fully adjustable utility belt, fitted with detachable pouches and holster, wrapped around her waist. The floating pad design allowed its load to be perfectly positioned over the hip–bones for maximum comfort and weight distribution.

Four power cells were located on the back of the belt. Each was a single use item that energized the suit's cloaking ability which was still in the prototype phase. Tali was researching a more sustainable energy source, but currently the technology needed for the added capabilities did not exist. While cloaked Lakota would be undetectable by physical or technological means – with one exception – actually running into her. Since the cells were only good for a single three to four minute cloak, Lakota needed to plan out exactly at what point being invisible was actually needed when she and Wrex went after Grace.

While standing near the bed, Lakota pulled off the sleek hood and a tumble of long, jet–black black hair, uncharacteristically free–flowing, draped wildly over her shoulders. A moment later, the doors of the cabin opened and Liara walked in.

The scientist glanced at the Spectre as she silently made her way over to desk. She leaned back, half–sitting upon the top, and then crossed her arms in front of her chest. If she was curious about the suit, her actions didn't show it. "How did things go with Udina?"

"I'm guessing no one ever told him that it's better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt."

"That well?"

Lakota shrugged her shoulders and proceeded to tell Liara about her meeting with the Advisor and then the information that Garrus and Tali discovered. For her part, Liara listened with single–minded intensity.

After Lakota finished her story, Liara's eye zeroed in on the commander's outfit, scrutinizing its nuances and the appealing form beneath its surface. The utility belt gave her lover a rugged appearance, but the tight fitting suit left no room to doubt the Spectre's strong and lean physique. The scientist smiled to herself as intimate knowledge of that lissome body flashed in her mind. A body she had explored at great length and many times, but never ceased to desire any less.

Breathing deeply, Liara said, "So that is the cloaking device you and Tali have been working on."

The Spectre began to pull off the gloves, one by one. "Infiltration suit, Doctor."

"There is a difference?"

Smirking playfully, Lakota said, "Not really, I'm just being difficult."

Liara rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "So… you are going after Grace."

Looking up, the Spectre met Liara's gaze. "Yes."

The asari raised a questioning eyebrow and asked, "Even though it is a trap?"

Lakota had not mentioned anything about a trap to the asari when she recounted the earlier events. Tilting her head slightly, Lakota said, "You've been talking with Garrus."

Liara nodded but didn't say anything.

"Do you not want me to go?" Lakota asked.

"That is a complicated question, Shepard." Liara's eyes dropped to the floor before she continued. "I do not like it," blue eyes once again rose to meet green, "but that has more to do with my concern for your safety than anything else."

"I have to do this, Liara, but don't think your words have no meaning to me."

"Yes. I know and I do understand." The asari sighed gently as though the weight of her thoughts had landed on her shoulders all at once. "You need to do this and you should."

Lakota moved over to the desk, and placed the hood and gloves on top of it. When she looked up, she was greeted by a pair of deep blue eyes staring at her.

Liara shook her head in rueful contemplation. "You are an odd combination of violence and compassion, Shepard. You contain the violence very well, but it is there, and I would be a fool, and you would be a fool, to think it was less a part of you than the compassion."

Lakota sighed heavily. "You're right."

"You know yourself. You understand your violence as well as you understand your capacity for kindness, maybe better."

"Could always use more understanding."

"Yes, it could and does," said Liara. "Kindness, in and of itself, is not dangerous. Somehow you have found a way to work and live which allows you to integrate violence and compassion. If you had no impulse to violence, your compassion would not be so admirable. If you had no compassion, your violence would be intolerable. Does that make sense?"

Smiling softly, Lakota said, "As long as I pay really close attention."

Pushing off of the desk, the asari stepped over to the Spectre and stood in front of her. Then she reached up with her right hand and let her fingertips tenderly brush across the scar that cut diagonally across the commander's face. "You are able to apply the impulse of violence in the service of compassion. Your profession actually allows you to exist at the point where vocation and avocation meet. Few people achieve that."

Lakota was quiet for a moment admiring the amount of time Liara had spent thinking about her. Even while doing this, the Spectre was also thinking about how beautiful her lover was.

"Does this mean you like me?" asked Lakota playfully.

Liara's thumb gently traced the outline of the Spectre's lips and then she smiled coquettishly. She leaned forward until her lips brushed along Lakota's leaving the feeling of a hauntingly sweet kiss when they departed. "I think it does."

"Be careful, Doctor," murmured Lakota. "Liking a Spectre would be considered a mistake in most people's eyes."

"I believe you once told me that some mistakes are too much fun to only make once." After her statement, Liara's lips returned for another teasingly gently kiss, briefly suckling on the commander's lower lip before pulling away.

Her eyes still closed, Lakota said, "That sounds like me."

"Yes, it does."

Resting their foreheads together, the human and asari remained unmoving as though lulled by the peacefully tranquility that had settled around them.

"Now, Commander," Liara said as she slowly pulled away in order to gaze directly into Lakota's eyes, "I want to vent, briefly."

The Spectre nodded. "That's fair, Doctor."

"First, I want to remind you that if the enemy is in range, so are you."

Grinning, Lakota said, "Good advice."

"Second, if you let yourself get killed, I will not be happy."

The commander's eyes widened at the unexpected admission and immediately felt as though she needed more air in her chest. She inhaled deeply and as quietly as she could, so it wasn't mistaken as sighing, and then recovered enough from her surprise to smile roguishly. "So far, so good."

Liara looked a Lakota for a long time. Neither had anything to say, but that didn't stop either of them from taking in the quiet moment of reprieve. Finally, the scientist nodded slowly. Lakota thought that in its solemnity, her lover's face was quite beautiful.

Smiling softly, Liara said, "Yes, so far, very good."

Next up: The Storm


	17. The Storm

**Chapter 17: The Storm**

"_**You lack the courage to do what is needed… what is necessary."**_

The words of her old Den mother raced through Lakota's thoughts as she settled herself into a comfortable seated position. At the same time, dull throbbing pain began emanating from various points in her body reminding her that comfortable was a relative term. Over the last month, her body had taken some heavy physical punishment and in her motionless state, those injuries seemed to scream out. While fighting Saren on the Citadel, she had suffered a dislocated shoulder and fractured ribs. The shoulder was almost back to full mobility, but if she didn't stretch it every day then stiffness settled within it and impeded her movement. Her fractured ribs had been acerbated during her altercation with Finch, so once again deep breathing caused shooting pain to flood her chest. Although she knew the magnified discomfort was purely psychological, it didn't stop her left hand from aching more than normal in her immobile, seated position.

She was in a large air–shaft located within the factory where Lysandra had met with Grace. The space was tall enough to let her sit with her back against a wall and still have a foot of clearance above her head. Compared to some of the less than savory places she had to hole up in over the years, this was a luxury. Armed with the building's schematics and C–Sec security footage, it hadn't taken long for her to infiltrate the facility undetected. She had learned the finer arts of breaking and entering when she was with the Reds, and had honed her skills to perfection while working as a sniper for the Alliance. Once she had entered the building, she slowly made her way through to the main network node which was located on the top floor. Her route had consisted of traveling up elevator shafts, using the air ducts when possible, and along wet walls that existed between floors – any path that was away from security cameras and the eyes of patrolling guards.

She was wearing her black infiltration suit which gave her greater agility and mobility than any suit of armor. The skintight weave of black, para–aramid synthetic fibers covered her from head to toe and bestowed her with an almost undetectable presence when lying in the shadows. Plus the suit's built in temperature regulators masked her body heat signature by mimicking the ambient temperature of the air around her which kept her undetectable by thermal imaging security monitors. For this operation, she left her sniper rifle, _Styx_, on the _Normandy_. The large rifle would have been too cumbersome when maneuvering through the tight spaces, so instead she brought her HMPW pistol which was holstered to her right thigh and her dagger, _Chaos_, which was strapped to her inner left forearm.

A sniper's abilities encompass many areas of expertise. They are able to inflict severe and far-reaching damage to individuals, or a small or larger formation of people or even equipment such as a barrier engine or land vehicle like a Mako. Because they know where a system's vulnerabilities lie, they know how to attack and produce maximum damage with minimal effort. Awareness of actual or potential damage caused by correct shot placement is invaluable to a sniper. Lakota knew that the key to maximizing damage on equipment was in knowing how it works. She didn't need to know how to build it – she just needed a basic working knowledge of the various types of technologies used in its construction. This is why she had targeted the factory's network node. By hacking into the building's network, she would be able to control its environmental systems, security systems and keep her presence off the grid, making her approach to Grace undetectable. She would still have to deal with the armed guards, but once the security had been hacked, she was going to meet up with her ace in the hole – Wrex. She knew the krogan felt a sense of obligation – that he had a debt to pay – because she had helped him recover his family armor, but she also knew that the camaraderie they shared was woven in more than just an obligation. Over the last many months while hunting Saren and Sovereign, a strong bond of friendship had developed between them, one that had been honed by battle and strengthened by blood. Whereas Garrus felt like a brother, Wrex felt like a brother–in–arms. She had a deep seated respect for the krogan battlemaster and she suspected that he held her in the same regard. As the old idiom stated, they were cut from the same cloth.

Once Lakota had made it to the node, she hacked her way through the first layer of security with her omni-tool. Because the facility's network was wireless, she didn't actually have to be in the control room that housed the physical components, she only needed to be within twenty feet to ensure a solid, uninterrupted connection. It took two minutes for her to get past the first firewall and an additional eight to crack the second. Although not an engineer, as an infiltrator, she had a better than average knowledge of computer systems and program algorithms, but she knew her skill set would be put to the test if she was going to gain access to the primary facility functions. For this reason, she had recruited both Tali and Garrus to help.

In the air duct above the node, the Spectre set up a wireless transceiver which had been programmed with the codes to get past the second firewall, and from there Tali hacked through the additional four. While the quarian was weaving her electronic magic, Garrus monitored the factory's security channels for any alarms. None occurred.

Another asset that a sniper honed was to be meticulous in preparation – planning routes for both insertion and evasion. Before entering the factory, Lakota had mapped out four different routes to the network node and at various point along those paths she could connected to another in order to continue toward her goal. If at any point something went wrong, Lakota had three separate escape routes planned. Two focused on staying out of sight and the third was an emergency only route which focused solely on a safe getaway.

A sniper must also understand the concept of stealth, cover and concealment, and be able to stalk for long distances without being observed. Once she had entered the facility, it had taken Lakota ninety–four minutes to make her way through building to the top floor which was where the network node was housed. Her progress had been slow and meticulous, but also deliberate and methodical. At times she had to wait, silent and unmoving, for extended intervals while patrolling guards roamed the corridors below her.

In the Alliance military, a sniper was a specially selected soldier who was trained as a marksman and observer, who could locate and report on an enemy however well concealed, who could stalk or lie in wait unseen and who could kill with one shot. When Lakota entered the Alliance's special ops program she found out that those chosen as snipers had similarities in personality. They were usually quiet individuals who went about their business with little or no supervision and who were generally happy with their own company and yet were still capable of being part of a professional and supportive team. They were consistent shots, scored above average in all basic military skills, were highly intelligent, and displayed a maturity beyond their years. The biggest surprise in personality was everyone's tendency for humor. The more Lakota thought about it though, the more it made sense. Humor was an essential coping mechanism for those whose lives were often harsh and unforgiving. The Spectre had always had a sardonic wit; it helped her survive while growing up in the bleak environment of the slums.

"_Shepard we have a problem." _Even through the comms_, _Tali's voice sounded strained.

"What's going on?" Lakota whispered.

"_Building maintenance is not on the security network. It's completely separate, so I can't unlock or open any doors."_

"Hellfire," grumbled the Spectre. "Is there any way to access it? Through a firewall or ACL route?"

"_No. None. It's not wireless, it's internally wired."_

"Shit. How long until the building's overnight lockdown occurs?"

"_Twenty seven minutes."_

"There's not enough time for me to physically hack into it. I'm going to have to let Wrex in myself. Garrus, you still there?"

"_What do you need, Shepard?"_

"Monitor the security cameras and tell me where the guards are. And keep their comms quiet. I'm going to take a straight route down to the side entrance and I am going to make a few heads roll when I do."

"_Shepard, they patrol in pairs!" _Tali's voice had risen in pitch – another sign of her concern and agitation_._

"Yeah… it doesn't seem fair to them, does it?"

"_You have two headed your way right now." _Garrus' tone was steady and calm just like when his attention was focused on calibrating equipment.

Many people believe that being a sniper constitutes the ability to shoot accurately over very long distances, but that is an oversimplified definition. Sniping is a tactical skill which is not related to range or distance. It is the employment of individual shooters from concealed positions with no warning – the distance was only dependent on the range of the weapon. Someone under sniper fire should be wary not to fall into the trap of looking into the distance every time a shot is heard – the shooter may be right under their nose. In terms of Lakota, she didn't consider sniping an activity suited for bullets alone; there were many type of weapons to be concerned about.

"_**People fear what they cannot see. People fear most what they do not understand."**_

Most people back down in the face of savagery. In a civilized world, is it not a common trait to be confronted with, but growing up in the slums where a social hierarchy of brutality existed, those who were the most savage were the ones with the most power. This power had nothing to do with physical strength; it was bound in the strength of one's convictions, personality and will. While still with the Reds, Lakota had encountered a surly man that was twice her size and who was looking for a fight. He was from a rival gang and wanted to make a mark by taking down the oppositions' leaders. He was also belligerent and loud, but she was able to end the confrontation before it began. He stood a foot taller than her with an expression reminiscent of a snarl, yet she met his gaze without flinching. She looked him straight in the eye with an icy, dead calm stare and in an impassive voice said, "I don't want to fight you because we both know that you will eventually win. You might even kill me. But know this… I will make it my life's purpose to tear out your left eye before that happens." The savage sincerity of her statement caused the man to falter. He scowled at her for a few moments, shook his head and then walked away. When she joined the Alliance, she didn't have to learn how to intensify her fighting style, she had to learn how and when to temper her brutality.

The Spectre quickly moved into position at the air duct opening just above the corridor. She had removed the grating earlier as a precaution – few looked up while walking down a hallway – and after two armored guards passed beneath her, she dropped quietly on top of them, striking with the merciless speed of a cobra. They were walking close enough together that she solidly landed a foot into each of their shoulders sending them headlong toward the ground. They were both wearing full body armor and helmets, but they were separate pieces, so their weak spots were limited to one – the throat. She followed her momentum rolling to her feet then with a rigid hand struck the nearest guard in the throat. It was a hard jab that silenced all sound except for a choked gurgle and sent the man back down to the ground with both hands grasping at his throat as he tried to breathe. Immediately she rolled to the second guard and attacked from behind. She looped her left arm around his neck so that the crook of her elbow was under his chin, and then placed her left hand on her right arm's bicep. Her right hand landed on his helmet and pushed both his head and neck forward in an unforgiving chokehold that immediately induced a shortage of blood flow to the brain. He struggled against her grip, but she only tightened her hold. It took a few seconds, and then once Lakota felt his body go slack she was back on the first guard, slamming his head viciously to the floor which knocked him into unconsciousness.

She glided quickly to the stairwell and headed swiftly, but silently down to the next floor.

To be a successful sniper, there are seven primary skills that must be developed and mastered – shooting, observing, judging distance, navigation across different terrains, sniper related knowledge about equipment, weaponry and warfare tactics, camouflage and concealment, and the most important, stalking. Without a doubt the primary skill associated with the sniper was stalking because it encompasses all other skills within it. The sniper will always be outnumbered and outgunned, and so to remain unseen and able to maneuver into a position of advantage is a high priority.

"_Shepard, there are two more in the stairwell two floors below."_

She slowed her pace and looked over the railing. The two guards were standing on the landing between floors and were outfitted the same way as the others, in light armor and with helmets. Without hesitation, she launched herself over the railing and let gravity pack extra power to the kick when her feet slammed into one of the surprised men. Lakota's feet hit the back of his shoulders with such force that he ricocheted into the wall and didn't move any more. She tumbled in the direction of her fall which landed her on the steps below the remaining guard. Wasting no time, she sprinted up past the guard who made a move toward her, but was too encumbered by his armor to even come close to touching the agile Spectre. She headed directly towards the wall but then, at the last possible moment, she leapt up and in one move changed her direction and increased her momentum by springing off the wall with her left leg. Turning her body while in mid-flight, she sent her right forearm into the face of the unexpecting guard, which knocked him off balance and sent him tumbling down the stairs. The reinforced armguard in her suit protected her from any injury while adding to the impact of her strike.

Landing on her feet with the ease of an Olympic athlete, the Spectre took a moment to dispassionately survey the two men. When neither moved, she headed down two more flight of stairs then entered the fourth floor corridor. She had to cross the building to get to the rear entrance of the factory.

"_Shepard, when you round the corridor, there will be two more headed in your direction."_

Wanting the element of surprise, Lakota took a slo, shallow breath and charged around the corner directly toward the two armored men. They each reached for their pistols, but the Spectre was too fast. When she got within ten feet of them she launched herself at a guard, her hands clasping on his helmet just under the chin, using him as the center axis for a spin as she savagely crushed the other man's helmet against the wall with both of her feet. She was suspended momentarily in a horizontal position – feet on the head which was pressed against the wall and her arms which were now fastened around the other one's neck – then she pushed in a spin motion bringing him down. He was already semi–conscious from air deprivation and when his head hit the floor, he was knocked out cold. She glanced over at the other guard in time to see him slide down the wall and then fall over like a ragdoll.

"_**Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. In this way, you can be the director of your opponent's fear."**_

As she continued to make her way toward the rear of the building she encountered two more armed guards and repeated her direct feral attack. Running toward them, she jumped on the first one and used him as axle for spinning, but this time the other guard was closer, so she aimed her right shin at his throat which connected with a devastating thud. The momentum of the move drove her and the first guard down to the ground then she quickly captured him within her arms, holding him in a standard chokehold maneuver for a few seconds until he passed out. Once his body had gone limp, she gracefully flipped over to the second guard, but this time used her legs in a triangle choke hold as she landed on him –encircling his head and one of his arms. At the same time she squeezed her legs together, she pulled his head to the ground which increased airflow obstruction. He passed out in a matter of seconds.

"Tali," Lakota whispered, "how much time is left."

"_Twelve minutes, Shepard."_

Every sniper knows that no two rifles are the same and they each live or die by the motto "know thyself, know thy rifle." Being aware of how a weapon responds in different environments, how it handles in extreme situations and even its durability is all life-saving knowledge and Lakota applied this motto to every piece of weaponry she used, including her sniper rifle, _Styx_; her dagger _Chaos_ and her HMWP pistol which she hadn't yet named. For a sniper, qualities such as concentration, discipline, confidence, and patience must be honed to fire successfully under pressure. While training as a sniper, the Alliance used a technique known as "This is the last shot for the rest of my life." Within this methodology a sniper becomes conditioned to regard each round fired in practice as a single, final event with an exact beginning, a definite end, and a standard for achievement. It was a procedure used to contribute to a sniper being psychologically and physically prepared to neutralize a suspect – one of the most pressured situations which was mostly psychological and self-induced. Different snipers used different techniques to fight off the psychological adversities which can plague an unprepared individual. Before embarking on any mission, Lakota took time to get into her "bubble." She didn't allow herself to think about what she was shooting at nor did she try to identify with the target. She learned while living in the slums to not feel anything about the intended objective and the Alliance's training reinforced that idea. After all, in a hostage situation, she must think in terms of saving a life or lives rather than taking a life. Her bubble also helped her prepare for the fact that her quarry is almost always oblivious to her presence, so they never see their death coming for them.

Once she had reached the back of the facility, Lakota worked her way down the stairwell to the first floor.

"_Comm traffic is quiet, Shepard. No one is stirring."_

"Must be my lucky day, Garrus."

"_Don't say that just yet, you have two more in the hallway coming toward you. You have seven minutes before lockdown."_

One of the first rules of hand to hand combat that Lakota learned was never to oppose strength to strength, because inevitably the stronger one will win.

She made her way to the entrance door to the stairway, and then readied herself. When the doors swooshed opened she launched a quick, rabid attack. The problem with light armor is that it has to sacrifice protection in order to meet the lighter weight restrictions. To do this, some manufacturers skimp on protecting flexible joints. Taking advantage of this knowledge, Lakota landed a brutal side stomping kick to the first guard's knee. An audible pop sounded out and just as the man hollered out in pain, the stiffened fingers of her right hand ruthlessly jabbed him in the throat silencing any other sound except gurgling.

"_Shepard, two more are headed your way! You only have a few minutes! Hurry it up!" _The calm inflection in Garrus' voice was gone.

The second rule of hand to hand combat she learned was that when someone is on balance they are strong, but off balance they are weak.

She felt the remaining guard's hand on her right shoulder, but instead of stepping away she stepped backward tucking low, breaking the grip, rolling her body backward and then springing up behind him. Her right hand grabbed his helmet, fingers finding the clasp to release it and in a vicious move, yanked it off his head. As his legs collapsed beneath him, she side-stepped and crushed her knee into his face, knocking him prone on his back.

She dropped the helmet to the floor, turned and headed down the corridor toward the rear entrance door.

"Shepard." The guard without a helmet raised himself on his elbow as blood gushed from his broken nose. "I know it's you, Shepard. She said you'd come."

Lakota stopped walking away and turned around.

"If Grace doesn't fuck you up then I will hunt you down myself." Blood spittle bubbled from his mouth leaving an angry red path down his chin. "I will make it my life's purpose."

Cocking her head to the side, Lakota said, "Thanks for the heads up."

The third lesson of hand to hand combat was that weapons are the great equalizer.

She crossed the distance to the guard in a matter of seconds and sank _Chaos_ into the man's throat – all the way to his spine. As the gurgling sound of the man choking in his own blood receded, Lakota made sure not to blink – she stared at him in resolute silence until she was absolutely positive he was gone. She was done being threatened for no reason, without provocation, she was done being afraid of her past. The past was meant to stay there, and whatever strands still lingered around her, she was going to put to rest.

"_Shepard!"_

Hearing Garrus' voice broke Lakota's trance and she turned, sprinting down the hallway until she reached the rear outer door. Once she passed her omni–tool over the control pad, the doors opened with forty–five seconds to spare before the overnight lockdown occurred.

"Wrex." Lakota nodded.

"Shepard." The krogan was in his Colossus battle armor and holding a shotgun. "Took you long enough."

"I had some things to do."

"And now?"

"Play time is done," replied the Spectre, a slightly forced curve coming to her lips. "Ready to alleviate your boredom?"

The Battlemaster's eyes looked amused. "Lead the way, Shepard."

Next up: The Den Mother


	18. The Den Mother

**Author's Note:**

Chapter 18 and the Epilogue were posted on the same day. Think of it as a "thank you" to those who have been loyally following this story. I am very grateful for the time and interest you have invested in this tale. I hope you enjoy the final chapters.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18: The Den Mother<strong>

As soon as Wrex walked through the rear factory entrance, the doors slammed shut and the nighttime security lockdown initiated. Nobody would be able to get in or out of the facility for four hours which allowed plenty of time for Lakota to find and deal with Isabel Graciela Olmos Vasquez, her former mentor and a woman who was supposed to be dead. With no further need for stealth, Lakota removed the hood of her infiltrator suit and put it into one of her belt's empty utility pouches. Then she pulled her raven black hair which hung loosely around her shoulders into a pony tail.

Wrex adjusted the shotgun in his hands. "Which way, Shepard?"

"Up the stairs to the seventh floor. According to Tali, only one person is up there and I'm betting it's Grace."

The artificial light illuminated the white walls and floor of the hallway in an unnaturally bright light. It was a stark contrast to the tenebrous mood permeating the space. Even the silence seemed surreal as the krogan and human walked down the hallway in the direction of the stairwell, their footfalls echoing eerily through the corridor. Neither of them felt the need for idle chatter or needless sound to fill the void. They were both comfortable in each other's presence and content with the quiet between them. Theirs was a unique friendship. They had violently disagreed to the point of almost coming to blows on Virmire, but they had worked through that disagreement bound around Saren and the genophage. In truth, that altercation actually served to strengthen their respect for each other. Both would rather associate with someone who opposed them out of an honest belief in the rightness of their cause than someone who was always on their side because it was expected and required.

Their unhurried path brought them near the man who had threatened the Spectre a few minutes earlier and who now was slumped over, lying dead in a pool of his own blood.

"Friend of yours?" Wrex asked in an amused tone.

"Nah," said Lakota, "we weren't that close."

As the pair walked toward the stairwell, Garrus sounded out on their comm channel.

"_Shepard, those two guards are coming up on you fast. You'll see them when you turn the corner."_

The krogan and human didn't slow their pace; they just leisurely readied their weapons as they continued on their way. When they rounded the corner they saw the two armored men heading toward them. The guards stopped when they saw the intruders and moved to unholster their guns.

Lakota was quicker on the draw and raised her pistol, pointing it at the nearest guard's head. She smiled without humor. "You're in our way. If you value your lives, be somewhere else."

Wrex chuckled menacingly while dark blue biotic tendrils coiled around his body and he dramatically chambered a round in his shotgun.

The two guards looked at each other, looked back at the Spectre and Battlemaster, and then turned around and ran down the hall in the opposite direction.

"Be nice if everyone had this much sense," Lakota said as she holstered her pistol.

"Not as much fun though."

They continued down the hallway until they came to the stairwell entrance and then began their trek up toward the seventh floor.

When they reached the landing of the third floor, Wrex looked at the unconscious guards strewn around like ragdolls. "Looks like you had plenty of fun without me." His voice carried a hint of disappointment in it.

"If there was a sign that said 'Apocalypse starts here' it would be hanging around my neck, Wrex. Don't worry, trouble always seems to find me."

"It's one of your better qualities, Shepard."

"Thanks… I think."

They reached the fifth floor without any opposition and continued to climb the stairs.

"You have been handed a load of ugly shit lately," said the krogan. "Good thing you're experienced at navigating through it."

"I've had a lot of practice since becoming a Spectre."

Wrex nodded in agreement. "Saren and Sovereign."

"Actually, I was thinking The Citadel Council." Lakota grinned wolfishly. "Plus I learned a valuable lesson long ago. When life hands you lemons, calmly cut one in half, turn around and squirt juice in life's eye."

Wrex's laugh sounded like a deep thunderous rumble as it echoed through the stairwell.

"You know what you're going to do?" asked the Battlemaster.

The Spectre shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "Plan A is to apprehend Grace and not die."

The krogan turned to the human. "And if that doesn't work?"

"Which part?"

"Either."

Lakota smiled mischievously. "If the first part fails, there's twenty-five more letters in the alphabet, so no reason to panic. If the second part fails, I won't be around to panic."

Before the krogan could retort, Garrus sounded out over the comm link. His voice sounded strained.

"_Shepard, we have a problem."_

"What's up?" the Spectre asked.

"_You've got a whole squad coming your way from the ground floor. Tali locked down the elevators, so you'll find them on the stairs. Whoever is on the seventh floor used a secure line to call in reinforcements."_

Turning to the krogan, Lakota said, "You got this?"

Wrex gave the Spectre an impervious blank stare.

"Yeah, of course you got this." Lakota turned her head toward the krogan. She was grateful for his presence. Of all the people she knew, she was pleased it was Wrex who was with her now. Even without having a conversation, she knew he understood the heaviness of the situation – of coming face to face with the past and settling things once and for all. He'd been through it himself when confronting his father. He was also an indomitable warrior whose combined battlefield skills and formidable biotics made him into a holy terror in the face of the enemy. She was glad he had her back. The trust they had in each other was bound in blood, sweat and sarcastic humor – he was the one individual she didn't have to worry about when charging into battle, which is exactly what she needed when the time came to part ways.

"Wrex." Lakota nodded.

The Battlemaster returned the simple farewell. "Shepard."

The Spectre watched for a moment as the krogan grinned broadly, raised his barriers and readied his shotgun. The amused sparkle in his eye said all that needed to be said. He was ready to do some damage. She then turned away and headed toward the door of the suite. She had studied the building's schematics before entering - the whole seventh floor was single residential living area and the door before her was the gateway into that space. For a second Lakota felt like Alice in the story "Through the Looking Glass." When she stepped through that door she wondered how her life would be changed.

"Garrus, you there?" asked Latoka.

"_Go ahead, Shepard."_

"I want you to focus on Wrex. Watch his back."

"_What about you?"_

"I'm going offline. I'll get back with you later."

"_Shepard, I'm not sure that's…"_

Lakota shut off her comm link and continued on her path. Each footfall she took added to the ominous trepidation of the moment. When she reached the door, she stopped. Knowing that Grace was on the other side of the door was much like a sleeping malice whispering on her periphery, creating a rock like tension in Lakota's shoulders. At the same time she felt that her past was unraveling before her, a sense of coming full circle also took hold. Eleven years ago she had confronted Grace and killed her. Or so she thought. Somehow Grace had survived and returned. Had she done the right thing back then? Should she have walked away instead? Had she acted out of anger, vengeance or spite? The doubts that plagued Lakota's mind had nothing to do with her current life but everything to do with old shadows and ghosts from the past that had not yet been put to rest.

The Spectre holstered her HMWP pistol, reached to the back of her utility belt and unsnapped the strap of her spare gun – a .357 magnum with a four inch barrel and a fully loaded six round chamber which still used powder ammunition. This was the same ancient pistol she had used to shoot Grace all those years ago. Lakota had held onto it, maintaining it out of a sense of commitment and nostalgia, but also out of respect for those she had tried to avenge. Bringing the old pistol with her added to the feeling of coming full circle with her past.

Lakota was stationary in front of the threshhold for a few seconds more, but the anticipation of seeing Grace face to face began to build like an oppressive weight, so she took a deep breath and stepped forward to activate the door.

To her surprise, the door to the suite opened immediately, Lakota thought it would be locked, and she entered into a large room with a vaulted ceiling. The walls were painted white while grey–black marble tiles covered the floor. The space was sparsely decorated with a beige sofa and walnut colored coffee table on the right side of the room, and a small bar set with four stools on the left side. Everything sparkled and nothing looked out of place. Nothing looked as though it had ever been used.

Across the room behind a large glass-top desk sat a stunning woman in perfect repose. She had to be in her early fifties, but looked ten years younger. She had long, jet black hair which flowed loosely across her shoulders and large, dark brown eyes that exuded warmth and intelligence, but there was also icy hardness beneath their surface. She wore a blue pin-stripe pant suit and a white shirt with a long collar which contrasted nicely with her honey-toned skin, giving the whiteness of the top an illuminated look. Her makeup was expertly applied and although sitting down, she looked in shape. On the whole, she appeared elegant and regal, an imposing well put together woman from whom sophistication seemed to radiate. Even the hints of aging at the corners of her face seemed to add some sort of prestige to her appearance.

Neither woman said anything; they just stared at each other silently for a long time.

Finally, Lakota's voice sounded out, low and raspy, carrying a subtle threat wrapped within a greeting. "Grace."

"Commander Shepard. I've been expecting you."

"You're supposed to be dead."

"That goes for you, too, dear."

Slowly and deliberately, Lakota raised her pistol, pointing it at the older woman. "I can rectify half of that."

Grace's lips curled into a hint of a smile, both menacing and defiant. "You didn't kill me the first time, what makes you think you'll succeed now."

"Practice. Or didn't you see the pile of bodies I left on my way in?"

Giving an assenting nod, the older woman said, "The Alliance trained you well."

"Yeah, well, they said I had a lot of anger issues."

"And now?"

With a look black as the bottom of the sea, Lakota said, "I'm working on it, but I'm about to solve one bitch of an issue – permanently."

The Den Mother rose from the chair effortlessly. "You were my greatest student. You should be standing next to me not against me."

"I stand where I am needed. And right now it appears to be between you and Councilor Anderson. Tell me… why do you want him dead?"

Grace moved over toward the bar and began to pour herself a drink. "That short-sighted fool would keep humanity shackled at the heels of our alien oppressors!" She added an amber liquid to a short glass and then turned back around to face the Spectre.

"That's a little extreme, don't you think?" Lakota lowered the pistol, but didn't holster it.

The Den mother took a sip from her glass. "I know you are fascinated by these alien creatures but they are a threat to humanity and always will be."

"Look at our recent history," the Spectre said. "Without alien help, I would never have defeated Saren."

"Yes, look at history. The krogan warring against any race that stood in their way. The turians attempting to dominate through greater fire power. The asari keeping their secrets to themselves while seeking to rule all with their passive aggressive diplomacy." Smirking with a self-satisfied grin, Grace said, "Yes, let's look at our history with them. If any of them had their way, they would have humanity licking their boots!"

"Then why did those 'oppressors' enlist a human as a Spectre?" countered Lakota.

"Because you are useful! You are a tool! A weapon for them to wield both in battle and politically!" Grace took another sip of her drink and then placed the glass back down upon the bar. "But you're used to that, aren't you?" Smirking, the older woman said, "First you were my weapon, then an Alliance weapon, and now the Council's weapon. How does it feel, dear, to know you've been a slave since birth?"

Lakota growled, "I am no one's slave!"

Chuckling to herself, the older woman said, "Still trying to be the Tigre Carmesí?" She shook her head in amusement, but then her features hardened to a stoic expression."One day you will come to understand that we are all slaves to our own history. And if there is to be a bright future for humanity, then we have to learn to break those chains."

"So… what? You kill Anderson? For what purpose? He's the first human Councilor! Isn't that what you want?"

"What I want is someone who has humanity's best interest in mind."

An understanding took hold of Lakota as she whispered, "Udina." The Spectre paused as the pieces fell into place like a puzzle. "Kill Anderson and then Udina steps in."

Grace's smile was without humor but full of righteous arrogance.

"But what about Torrez and Finch?" the Spectre asked.

"If humanity is to survive, sacrifices must be made for the greater good. The Alliance doesn't understand this, Cerberus does. Plus, I needed something to get your attention."

"My attention? You could have sent me a message, but instead people died!"

"I did humanity a favor by weeding out a few delinquent souls."

"Darwin would be so proud," retorted Lakota.

Grace grabbed her glass of amber liquid and walked back over toward her desk to sit down. "I know the rage that drives you. The impossible anger… but you are wrong to twist it in my direction."

"Oh? My memory must be a little hazy because as I recall, _**you **_are the one who blew up my apartment…" Lakota raised and pointed her gun back at her old mentor. "…with me in it."

"If I had wanted to kill you back then, you'd be dead. It was just a test."

"And those children you had murdered? Were they a test as well?"

"You may not understand my methods, but everything done back then was for your benefit."

Lakota shook her head in adamant refusal. Her voice was hoarse as she whispered, "There are no words in existence that can describe the depth of your treachery."

"Wake up, Shepard! Your whole life has been a test!" A sinister grin formed on Grace's lips. "Or did you think Akuze was by chance?"

Confused, Lakota repeated, "Akuze?" She dropped the pistol back to her side as more pieces began to fall into place. "Cerberus! When did you start working for Cerberus?"

"That's the wrong question, my dear." The older woman relaxed back into her chair with her elbows resting on its arms and her finger entwined before her. Smugly, she said, "The better question would be 'When wasn't I working for Cerberus?'"

The words hit Lakota like a tram. Lifelong suspicions and questions came to the surface once again. The silence was long as the Spectre's mind raced through her memories trying to recall any indication of Cerberus while she lived on Earth. Nothing came to mind and neither said a word, they just stared at each other.

Grace was still leaning back in her chair when she spoke. "From the moment of your birth you've been tested. You were being groomed for greatness, Shepard. And when you became a Spectre, I was so proud… all of my hard work and effort to shape you into the weapon that you are had paid off…" The older woman abruptly sat up and slammed her hand on the desktop. "Until your inept decisions to let the Council live and give the Councilor seat to Anderson!"

"And Las Catacumbas? The Red Sand? The asari herb, tiffen?"

"Don't play dumb, _Spectre._" She spat the word 'Spectre' as though it was poison in her mouth. "It's beneath you."

Narrowing her eyes angrily, Lakota repeated what she knew. "Cerberus has only ever been focused on one thing- creating a super soldier. The altered molecular state allowed the Red Sand to pass through security without a thought and tiffen would pass because it is legal. Las Catacumbas was the place to create the new drug. But the drug was unstable. Finch proved that."

Grace took a small sip from her glass. "He was a useful tool. The CR2 enhanced his abilities, but had some… unfortunate side-effects."

"Unfortunate? It killed him!"

"There is only one truth about war, Commander – people die!"

"We are not at war!"

"Yes, we are! Cerberus sees it, but the Alliance turns a blind eye."

"And Mario Torres? What did he do to deserve death?"

"Sometimes harsh things need to be done in war. Inevitably, each and every one of us will face a moment where we have to decide and commit to that tough choice." Grace placed the glass back on the desk and met the Spectre's steely gaze. "If we flinch in that moment, if we hesitate for one second, if we let our conscience get in the way, you know what happens? There are more people dead. Humanity suffers."

"You know this," said the older woman. "You were groomed since birth with this knowledge."

"Go to hell."

"You have fought and killed many people, Shepard, and you've even made peace afterwards. Can you and I not have peace now?"

_"_Peace?" said Lakota incredulously. "What of the children that lie dead in Mexico City? What of the soldiers whose bodies were burned and broken by thresher maws? Where's their peace?"

Grace sat a little straighter in her chair. "They were necessary casualties. They were part of your training."

"Fuck you! When Cerberus is burning and you lie dead for your actions… then we shall have peace."

"We all believe in something greater than ourselves, Shepard. I believe in Cerberus. I believe in their investment in you."

"Enough!" yelled the Spectre. "I refuse to star in your psychodrama!"

Lakota raised her pistol and pointed it at the older woman's head. Grace looked on with an impenetrable dark stare.

Lakota was a weapon, she knew it. Grace's words rang true. What the Den Mother had started the Alliance had finished and polished, but the difference between the two was vast. What Grace had forced and manipulated, the Alliance had offered freely. Where Grace had tainted choice with false illusions, the Alliance had shed light. Although once a weapon with no personal power, Lakota finally realized that when she stood up to Grace those many years ago she reclaimed what she'd lost as a child. And with that new understanding came the epiphany that when she had chosen to enlist with the Alliance she had chosen to become a weapon all on her own.

This moment was no different than any other since she'd left Earth, she had a choice.

"You're not worth it." Lakota lowered the pistol.

Shaking her head in disapproval, Grace said, "You still lack the courage to do what is needed… what is necessary." She stood up from the desk and walked toward the Spectre. "Have you forgotten what I taught you?"

Lakota remained stationary, but watched every movement the older woman made like a predator eyeing its prey.

Grace stopped when she was inches away from Lakota and her eyes carefully inspected the younger woman. When she spoke, she sounded as if she were reciting a parliamentary rule. "If someone stands in the way of what you truly want, you simply walk up behind them and stab them in the heart." Grace circled the Spectre in a counter-clockwise manner. "Or maybe that diplomatic asari whore you are shacked up with has tamed your teachings?"

The hair on the back of Lakota's neck rose at the mention of Liara.

"Oh yes," Grace sneered, "I know about her, my dear."

"You're one to talk," said the Spectre. "Your partner in all of this is an asari."

Grace walked back to her desk and once again sat down. "I was using her, not taking her to my bed." Her hand reached out to pick up the half empty glass of amber liquid. "You parade around with that alien as though you are proud to have her on your arm." She took a long sip from the glass. "It's disgusting and unnatural."

Lakota heard the thinly veiled threat in her old mentor's voice. "Leave her out of this."

"Touched a nerve, have I?" Grace placed her elbows on her desk and leaned forward slightly. "Maybe I should remind you that people close to you have a way of dying."

"I will only tell you this once more…" Lakota's voice sounded like a low, hostile growl. "Leave her out of this."

"Or what? You didn't save your crew in Mexico. You didn't save your platoon on Akuze. You didn't even save that soldier on Virmire. I will make sure Cerberus kill…"

A single shot thundered in the room.

Lakota breathed in deeply, her eyes burrowing menacingly at the desk across the room. A single wisp of smoke curled around her pistol which had been fired a moment before.

When the bullet hit Grace her body had rocked back and then forward before she fell on her desk and was still. At a slow and methodical pace, Lakota removed her glove and then walked over to her old mentor and felt for a pulse. It was faint. The bullet had not exited her skull which meant it had churned around in there. There was no point to any further retaliation; the older woman was already dead in all the ways that mattered. The Spectre stood beside her former Den Mother, resting her hand on the slowing pulse. Eventually, it fluttered and stopped. Lakota stood there for a time after it stopped. The room was infinitely quiet. She could hear her own breathing and caught the subtle smell of gun smoke lingering in the air. She took a deep breath and sighed heavily. Then she put her glove back on, holstered her pistol and left the room.

The Spectre walked through the brightly lit corridor and headed down the stairwell. There was no sound of fighting, but there were more guards lying prone now than when she and Wrex had walked up. When she reached the first floor, she saw a familiar sight.

Lakota smiled wearily. "Wrex."

"Shepard." The krogan's expression was one of satisfaction. "You take care of business?"

"Yep."

"Any more loose ends?"

"Nope."

Wrex nodded his head in approval and the two headed toward the front door.

"Shepard," said the krogan, his deep tenor voice posing a question.

The Spectre glanced at him. "Yeah?"

"The security lockdown is in effect for another two hours."

Not sure where he was leading the conversation, Lakota answered, "Yes, it is."

"How are we going to get out?"

Lakota rolled her eyes and sighed. "This would be infinitely funnier if it weren't happening to me."

Up Next: Last Chapter – The Epilogue


	19. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"'**Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.****" - Samuel Johnson**

Lakota and Wrex walked through the Presidium heading toward an Avina terminal to hail a cab back to the Normandy. The nighttime darkness had lifted a few hours earlier bringing with it that start of a new day in the artificially controlled environment of the space station. The pair, who had just left the C-Sec offices, stood out from the bustling crowds heading to work not only because of their disheveled look but also because of their company. A hulking krogan and comparatively small human female walking side by side was enough to draw anyone's attention.

Although there was nothing significantly appealing about the air quality, Lakota took in a long deep breath. She was relieved to finally be out in the open space even if it was a manufactured construct. The illusion of a lush garden was soothing in its own unique, visually pleasing way.

Glancing at the Spectre, Wrex said, "I'm surprised Pallin let you go so quickly."

Lakota shrugged her shoulders. "I gave him all the information he needed to close the case on Anderson's assassination attempt. He also got the information Garrus dug up on the illegal smuggling. All in all, it was the start of a good day for him."

"They have enough information to implicate Lysandra?"

"I doubt it. She has a lot of power."

Wrex nodded in understanding. "You have enough and the law makes a lot less of a difference."

"So young," Lakota said, "yet so cynical."

"Young has nothing to do with it. I'm krogan. We're born cynical. And you?"

Looking out upon the broken but still beautiful landscape of the Presidium, the Spectre smiled ruefully. "Right now, I'm so tired that I think if I died and went straight to hell it would take me at least a week to realize I wasn't on the Citadel anymore."

"Cynical, too."

The Spectre shot a playful look at the krogan and chuckled.

Wrex met the human's gaze directly. "What will you tell her?"

Furrowing her brows momentarily, Lakota simply said, "The truth."

"Not as cynical as I thought."

**########################**

The doors of the med lab swooshed open and Lakota ambled through at a slow, aimless pace. She was wearing navy blue cargo pants with a matching blue and white short sleeved top. The pants were snug enough to accentuate her athletic legs while the shirt was loose enough to give a hint of sensuality beneath its surface. The N7 patch on its sleeve revealed it was an Alliance approved garment along with the marine issue black boots. Overall, the commander looked comfortable, but a solemn haze seemed to cling to her, as well. The brooding mood was depicted in the lethargy of her movements and the dull listlessness in her eyes.

Liara looked up from her work and then swiveled her chair around so she could face the human Spectre. Tilting her head, the asari said, "I looked for you earlier."

Lakota's path led her to the storage shelves to the right of Liara's desk which held surplus medical supplies, extra lab equipment and miscellaneous gear for first aid kits. Although she appeared to be looking at content on the shelves, the Spectre's eyes were actually focused on nothing. "I was wandering through the ship."

"Are you okay?" They hadn't spoken since Wrex and Lakota had made their way back to the Normandy. Liara had found her in the med bay, but Chakwas had been in the middle of some testing and asked her to return later. When she did, the Spectre was gone.

"Chakwas seems to think so. Lots of fluids, quality sleep, minimal exercise... Oh… and avoid gunfire. Do all of that for a week and then I'll be right as rain."

"That is good news, but you know that is not what I meant."

Lakota cocked her head slightly, catching the asari in the periphery of her vision, but didn't look at her directly. "I'm fine."

Raising a questioning eyebrow, Liara asked, "Why were you wandering the ship then?"

The Spectre took a deep breath and as she exhaled, she turned to face the asari researcher. "I was trying to figure out what to tell you."

"And what did you come up with?"

Lakota told her the truth. She described breaking into the factory, the violent path from the top floor down to the first, and about Wrex and her forging their way to Grace. She related her conversation with Grace and then elaborated on the killing blow. She did this without inflection or added emotion or apology. She spoke as though she was giving a mission debriefing to the Alliance Command Council. Liara, for her part, listened quietly with single-minded intensity. She sat very straight in her chair, with her knees together, leaning forward slightly from the waist, her standard green and white jumpsuit hugging her features like a glove. She nodded her head, furrowed her brows and pursed her lips at various times during the recounting, but she never interrupted or asked any questions. Instead, she listened with her whole self.

When the story was finished, they both looked at each other for a long moment. Then Liara leaned back in her chair and repeated her earlier question. "Are you okay?"

Lakota smiled wearily and shrugged. "I will be." The fingers of her right hand pinched the bridge of her nose as an exhausted look took hold of her features. "In time, the sharp edges will wear off."

"I am sorry, Shepard. I know it could not have been easy."

Thinking back to Grace's threat, Lakota whispered, "Easier than you might think." The Spectre half turned so her eyes could pretend to glance over the supply shelf again. "For the longest time while growing up, I thought I was alone. No mother. No father. No history. But then at some point, I figured out that family is more than about DNA. It's about people who care and care for each other."

"That does not sound like something you learned from Grace."

"No. It wasn't. It happened back then, though. Working with Rosa, with my crew. We were tight. Like family."

"The way you have described her, I cannot imagine Grace allowing such fellowship beneath her rule."

Lakota slowly shook her head. "No."

"Do you feel that is the reason she tried…" Liara paused and thought how to phrase the question. "The reason for her attack against you and your crew?"

"I'm honestly not sure. Tonight she said everything that happened back then was a test for me. Maybe it was, but if so, it was such a waste." Lakota turned back around so piercing green eyes were met by inquisitive blue. "Doesn't matter now. It's done and over. What's lost… I'll never get back."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I can't help but feel that everything I was, everything I had, all of it died that night of the explosion." Lakota's right hand reached up and her fingertips traced the diagonal scar that slashed across her face. "I never got it back and now there's just… an emptiness."

"You have lost much, Shepard, and you have endured much." Liara was still sitting in her chair watching her lover intently.

Nodding, Lakota said, "Even Akuze doesn't compare."

"You have been forced to sacrifice a great deal over the years, but…," the asari hesitated briefly before deciding to finish her statement, "…you also cling to the memory of those sacrifices, of all the things you have lost or left behind."

"Of course I do!" Lakota said defensively. "They were my responsibility! They were my friends!"

"But now they have become chains of your own making, and they drag behind you and hold a part of you in place."

"That's not true," said the Spectre, hotly. "I laid them to rest long ago. Mexico City and Akuze, too!"

Liara paused intentionally. She had thought much about Lakota's past and about the things the commander held onto in the present. In the end she continued not because she wanted pry into her lover's history, but because she was concerned what would happen if she didn't. "You may have let go of the people, the places, the things, but you have not let go of the pain – the grief, the loss... the regret."

Silence filled the room as the two stared at each other. The calm serenity of the asari was a stark contrast to the agitated state of the Spectre. The disparate emotions seemed to collide and fill the room with a prickly sensation. When Lakota could no longer gaze upon the peaceful image of her lover her eyes fell to the floor.

"Shepard."

Silence continued to echo within the space.

"Look at me."

Lakota looked up once again, but this time weary green eyes met soothing blue.

"You have not forgiven yourself."

The Spectre scoffed, "For what? For failing them?"

"For surviving."

Sighing softly, Lakota whispered, "I wouldn't know how."

Liara stood, but didn't move from her spot. "My mother once told me that we are all the sum of our tears. Too little and the ground is not fertile, and nothing can grow there. Too much, and the best of us is washed away."

"Look… I don't…" Lakota slowly scanned the room as though assessing an escape route. "I should go."

"No," said Liara. "Stay."

A scowl crossed her face as the Spectre shook her head in a silent refusal. "You muddle things for me. A lot of what I do and who I am, my rules and guidelines… it's something that I feel more than think about. I just do. But with you… I think about myself more, which isn't a bad thing… except when it is..."

"Shepard, you may have come to some new understanding about yourself. You may have even realized that you are not who you thought you were. But you have not changed in my eyes."

Lakota tilted her head, her eyes reflecting the disbelief in her thoughts.

"You are still the same woman who rescued me on Therum, the woman who faced down and defeated a Reaper, the woman who did not let her past destroy her. You are still Lakota Shepard, the first human Spectre and…" Smiling, Liara added, "a source of frustration for the Citadel Council." She moved towards Lakota. "You are my friend." Once they were face to face, she said, "You are my lover…" Her fingers grazed the Spectre's cheek and then cupped under her chin, lifting it up until their gazes locked onto each other. "And I will not let you leave this room."

A look of surprise and subtle relief flashed in Lakota's eyes. Playfully she said, "Oh? Is that right, Doctor?"

"Yes, Commander. And I advise you not to argue with a Prothean expert. We are resilient and resourceful."

"Yes, I remember."

With her fingertips still touching Lakota's chin, Liara leaned in until their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss. Comforting, absolving, soothing. Their lips held the delicate, gentle caress, basking in its tranquility until an unspoken signal passed between them and they slowly drifted apart. Before she could move away, the Spectre's hands captured the asari's hips, pulling their bodies closer together. In response, Liara's hands languidly drew a path up each of the Lakota's arms, across each shoulder and then nestled at the back of the Spectre's neck where her fingertips began to leisurely play with strands of stray hair. The once prickly energy between them had shifted to a hypnotically peaceful ambiance. As they stared at each other in harmonious devotion, their lips curled tentatively into expressions of adoration.

Lakota leaned forward until their foreheads met. She breathed in a deep, cleansing breath, and then exhaled slowly through her nose as though trying to shed the remaining tension in her shoulders. "There's something I want to show you. It arrived after I left the med bay."

Releasing her hold on the hips, Lakota pulled a data pad out of a pocket on her cargo pants and handed it to Liara. The asari moved over to the desk, leaning back upon it and began to read the private message on the display.

_Shepard,_

_If you are reading this, then you are alive and you have defeated Grace. I hope you killed the bitch, but if you didn't, then I suggest you watch your back. I would congratulate you on your hard work, but you know as well as I that you wouldn't have gotten as far as you did without my help. In fact, without me, you would still be spinning in a quandary wondering who you should bully next for information._

_While it is true that Grace and I were partners, in the recent months, she and her associates had become a liability. I had no way of adequately dealing with them cleanly, but as luck would have it, you showed up in my office and became the perfect weapon. All I needed to do was point you in the right direction by mentioning the Reds and Las Catacumbas. The rest, as you humans say, is history._

_Subtleties strangle, so let me be blunt. The day you and your bookworm came into my office was the day events were set in motion which led to my victory. Yes, my victory. I needed you to feel confident; I needed you to be focused on your old mentor, so you wouldn't see what was happening behind your back. My submission to you that day was just a ruse. Did you really think I wouldn't know that I was being tracked to the factory? While you were diligently and obliviously hacking its security; I was absconding with the money. You got what you wanted and so did I. _

_By the time you read this, I will have left the Citadel in pursuit of more fruitful ventures that have come to my attention. Make no mistake; I did this for the money – not ego, fear or compassion. I gave you Grace because it suited me to do so. I have no further reason to continue with those experiments on humans. There is no profit in it. _

_Spectres, much like h__umans, have an innate desire for conflict__, but neither of us is so wasteful that we'd want each other dead now. __Rest assured though, if you attempt to bring ruin down upon me, I will do the same to you in turn. My respect for you, Shepard, is the only reason you're still alive. Do not mistake my generosity for weakness. If there is a next time, I will not be so pleasant._

_Goddess be with you.  
>~L<em>

After finishing the message, Liara looked up from the datapad. "The hussy called me a bookworm."

Lakota attempted not to smile, but failed. Miserably. "Yes."

"I am not a bookworm."

"No. Of course not."

The asari hesitated briefly before asking, "What _exactly _is a bookworm?"

"Well… um…" A perplexed look crossed Lakota's face as her right hand reached up to scratch the back of her neck. "It's usually a person who studies a lot."

"Oh."

The Spectre watched as Liara processed the information.

The asari researcher handed the data pad back. "It is an outdated term."

"Yes, it is."

"I do not believe all of what she has to say. She could not have planned everything as perfectly as she claims." In a pose of defiance, Liara crossed her arms in front of her chest. "And she was very arrogant."

"Yes, she was, but from what I can tell, she always has been. She did clear up a few things for me though." Lakota noticed Liara's questioning gaze and added, "I wondered why she went to see Grace at the factory when she just as easily could have messaged her."

"Will you go after her?"

"No. There's no point. Their experiment failed and the money she says she stole was technically hers anyway." Shrugging her shoulders, Lakota said, "Plus we have bigger concerns to focus on."

"Yes, I suppose we do."

Lakota wondered briefly if not killing the asari emissary was a mistake.

"Do you regret letting Lysandra go?"

"No," answered the Spectre honestly. "I'm done questioning my past actions and looking over my shoulder. I made the right choice in that moment. It's easy to second guess yourself when things are calm and quiet, but it's also a waste of time. I don't know what will happen now, but that goes for any decision I might have made."

"True." Liara let her hands fall to her sides. "So… what does happen now?"

"Suddenly, I am hungry." Lakota smiled softly. "So I was thinking dinner on the Citadel. Just you and me. Something low key and quiet."

"I like the sound of that." Playfully, Liara added, "If you are sure you are not too muddled by my presence."

"Oh," said Lakota as she crossed the space between them and then wrapped Liara in her arms. "I am definitely muddled by you, but I'm willing to take my chances."

Smiling coquettishly, the asari scientist draped her arms around the Spectre's neck. "You are courageous, Commander."

"I have to be, Doctor."

"Oh?"

"Well, I'm involved with a Prothean researcher, and rumor has it that she once wanted to dissect me."

Liara's brows furrowed momentarily. "Yes… about that…"

Smirking, Lakota said, "Hm?"

"I still do."

_The End…_

**Author's Note:**

Thank you for following this story and to all who have Fav'd, Alerted and left Reviews! This is the longest one I've written to date, so I am very grateful for all of the feedback both constructive and praising because it kept me focused and motivated! :) I hope you enjoyed the show!


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